


These Empty Spaces

by Coconutice22



Series: These Empty Spaces - An IronStrange Series [1]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anal Sex, Complete, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Gun Violence, Hurt Stephen Strange, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Violence, Stephen is a little like Sherlock at times, Stephen's actually a doctor doing doctor stuff gasp, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but that's okay, drama and mysteries, implied character death pre-story, to some degree anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 53,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23499331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coconutice22/pseuds/Coconutice22
Summary: Stephen Strange’s life was full, rich, and thriving. He simply didn’t have time to deal with annoyances like having his parking space stolen by some asshole.From the moment he meets Tony Stark, Stephen finds himself swept up in a world he has little hope of understanding. Tony is busy gearing up to completely change things at Stark Industries, and it soon becomes apparent that someone does not approve of what he’s planning.As Stephen’s dragged further into Tony’s problems, he finds himself falling for the billionaire. And, urgh, caring about him.Now complete
Relationships: Christine Palmer/OMC, Happy Hogan/May Parker (Spider-Man), Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: These Empty Spaces - An IronStrange Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822246
Comments: 350
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been fully written over the last year and a bit and will be updated regularly. It is 16 chapters and an epilogue bringing it up to 17 total. Due to recent events I had some time to finally finish up writing it and I'm very excited about sharing. 
> 
> I'm going to attempt to self-edit so sorry for any mistakes left in and please enjoy.

Metro-General Hospital cast a wide shadow over the parking lot, looming tall and impressive even in a landscape of tall skyscrapers. Stephen knew the moment he stepped outside of his warm, snug car he’d be hit by the bone-deep chill. January in New York was nothing to sniff at. He drove the well-practiced path to where his allocated space was, briefly checked his mirrors, moved his hand down to set the car in reverse and… lowered his window.

“Hey, you! That’s my space,” Stephen called out, brow furled, eyes narrowed.

The man was dressed poorly for the weather, Stephen noted. A coat on, sure, but stupid brown-leather dress shoes and no hat. He was, however, wearing sunglasses. What a douche.

“If it was your space, it isn’t currently your space, since I am all kinds of parked there right now.”

Stephen just wanted to go inside. January in New York was hardly a beach holiday. He didn’t want to deal with idiots trying to call dibs on a sparking space that wasn’t even theirs.

“Excuse me?”

The other man gestured to the sign, out of sight of Stephen from his low driving position. “It seems it has my name on it.”

“Is your name also Dr. Stephen Strange?” Stephen asked, arching an eyebrow very proficiently.

“No. I’m Tony Stark, and if you don’t move your car and let me enter the hospital, I’ll sue you.”

“For what?” Stephen snapped, fingers gripping the wheel. How dare he, how dare this asshole even suggest he’d  _ sue _ when Stephen was the wronged party here. It wasn’t even like he’d intentionally blocked Stark in either, he’d pulled in close with the intention of swinging his car around to  _ park _ .

“False imprisonment? Being a dick? I don’t know, you pick.”

Stephen’s car chose that moment to automatically turn off the engine as it had been idling for too long. Unfortunately, this appeared to Stark as if Stephen was just growing more belligerent.

“Well,  _ Mr _ . Stark,” Strange snarled, “I’m late for an operation to save a life. Get back in your vehicle and  _ move it  _ so I can park and get on with my  _ work _ .”

Stark clearly had enough and walked back towards his car door. Stephen huffed impatiently but was glad to see Stark was finally listening. Except, he didn’t stop at the driver door, he kept walking and then edged his way behind the car badly parked next to his, walked up between the tightly packed spaces, and was free without having to get Stephen to move at all.

“Actually, it’s Doctor Stark,  _ Doctor _ , if we’re going to get pedantic about it,” Stark smirked and walked off to the hospital entrance, a happy jiggle in his hips that Stephen would refuse to admit he found himself watching.

***

“You gave away my parking space?” Stephen snarled at the administrator. He should know her name. Should, but didn’t.

“Mr. Stark donated very charitably to the hospital recently, we’re setting up a whole new children’s rehabilitation ward purely on his donation, as well as renewing many pieces of equipment in other areas of the hospital. Many badly needed pieces of equipment.”

“And that means he’s entitled to a better parking spot than I am?”

“We’re simply trying to–”

“Kiss Tony Stark’s butt so he’ll give you more money. How many times a year do you expect he’ll visit that it justifies him having one of the best parking spots going?” 

“He’s actually come a few times in the last month alone to spend time with the children, so we thought it was time he had somewhere safe to keep his vehicle. They have a robotics group he's been supervising. Among other–”

But Stephen had heard enough.

“Give. Me. My. Parking. Spot. Back!” Stephen slammed his hands on the desk and leaned in menacingly.

He could see the subtle twitch of the woman’s eye and already accepted he was going to get written up by someone for this. But some battles were worth fighting for. He’d  _ earned _ that spot.

“I’m not in charge of assigning them, Doctor. But if you continue to talk to me in that tone I’ll have you escorted from the premises.”

“This is an utter outrage!”

“I can see about getting you a different spot if you aren’t happy with the new one you were assigned.”

He didn’t even know where he’d been assigned to really. He’d just parked at the next place he could find. That too was most likely going to cost him dearly later, but it was a worry for future him to deal with. Stephen drew in a deep breath to continue his verbal onslaught to get his space back when his beeper decided to go off instead.

Huffing, he checked it and realized he needed to leave right then.

“Give me my space back,” he threw back at the administrator. “I don’t care how much money Stark has given, you know I’m worth more to you.”

“Are you sure about that?” she raised an eyebrow and he found himself pausing a moment and turning back to face her. 

“What has he given you?” Stephen reached for his phone. “Whatever it was, I’ll double it.”

The administrator laughed. Straight up laughed. “You’re very well paid, Dr. Strange, I have no doubt, but Tony Stark has just donated $20 million to the hospital.”

What the hell was Stark doing donating $20 million to a hospital?

His eyes flicked down to the name plaque on her desk. Shirley Benson. A name he now had to remember in order to remember to avoid her. Christine wouldn’t be pleased to hear that she had been out on maternity leave for one week and he was already threatening members of staff. Oops.

***

When his space was free the next day, Stephen felt relieved more than anything. He pulled in, parked up, and got out to go see for himself exactly whose name was on there now.

_ Tony Stark _ , read the plaque, taunting him. So Stark hadn’t been lying when he said the plaque had been changed over.

With a screwdriver and some patience later, Stephen had removed the plaque and made a note to himself to find out where they’d put his name so he could restore it. Stark could have that spot for the once a year he pretended to turn up at the hospital, if he ever came again. But Stephen didn’t see the point in the space having Stark’s name on it for the other 364 days of the year.

See, Christine, he thought to himself proudly, I can share.

When the wonderful Shirley knocked on his office door later, Stephen knew he’d soon have a headache.

“Dr. Strange?” she asked, having given up and just stuck her head around the door.

“I’m in surgery,” he replied, flicking over another page of his book, refusing to look up at her.

She walked further in, frowning down at her. His finger slowed momentarily before he went to flick again to the next page, eyes taking in nothing of the text before him.

“I know you miss Christine–”

“I don’t miss her.”

“Clearly without your normal emotional support in place you’re finding new ways to act out.”

His lip curled as he turned the page. He was  _ not _ upset that Christine wasn’t here. She was having a baby, not moving to the other side of the world. And she was  _ happy _ and he was going to be a  _ good _ friend and support her.

Or so Christine’s sister had told him at the dinner Christine and Chris ( _ urgh _ ) had revealed they were expecting.

It was his own fault really, he’d fallen into the trap of trusting and relying on someone else. And now she wasn’t here, who was he supposed to complain to about the idiots they worked with? About the people who parked in  _ his _ spot just because they happened to donate what probably amounted to pocket change to them?

“The plaque has been put back and I will have your car towed if you park there again. Mr. Stark is due back in tomorrow and every day for the foreseeable future.”

Stephen dropped the book onto the table and finally turned to face the intruder.

“Am I being punished for something here?”

The administrator rolled her eyes. “No. But you can be sure as hell I am being punished for having to be the one to tell you this.

On that note, you will also be doing a shift at the free clinic tonight to make up for your behavior towards me this morning. And you should be lucky you aren’t getting a week’s suspension. I won’t accept threats towards me, Dr. Strange.”

Stephen quickly weighed up his choices. He had, indeed, screwed up and by all means should be at least in a conduct hearing.

“I accept.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at him. “To the clinic hours or to not parking in that space again?”

His hand twitched.

“The first one?”

Shirley narrowed her eyes at him.

“The first one,” he tried again, “followed by the second one?”

Shirley nodded, turning on the ball of her left foot to march out of his office again. “7pm at the clinic, Dr. Strange,” she informed him sharply.

Christine probably would have covered his clinic hours for him if she’d been there. Or at least she would have kept him company. He sighed and slumped in his chair.

No parking space. No Christine. No interesting surgeries coming up. What was even the point?

Well. Other than saving lives, Stephen mused to himself. That was probably important.

Since he had nothing better to do that evening, Stephen did indeed go to the clinic, and left 10 minutes early. There were only so many STDs and snotty noses he could look at in a day. And it wasn’t like dear Shirley was going to notice, was it?

***

Stephen arrived at the hospital late the next day. His one and only surgery wasn’t due to start until mid-afternoon and had the potential to go on for a couple of hours if things didn’t go in his favor. So really, he considered he was acting with considerable grace as he parked elsewhere, noticing Tony Stark was yet again parked in his spot.

With a magnanimous air, Stephen turned off his engine in a far inferior parking spot and walked into the hospital. Somewhere in the parking lot was his newly assigned official space, but out of spite Stephen had decided to park wherever looked best that day. He was just keeping the administration on their toes for once, he reasoned.

Nothing could break his focus from the operation in front of him. Not if he wanted his reputation to precede him.

It was spinal stenosis surgery, a laminectomy he could probably do in his sleep. The most common surgery for a neurosurgeon and so one he never usually agreed to carry out personally. The reputation of the patient was what had attracted him to take on the case. Derick Carter was the current artistic director for the New York City Ballet and had already offered Stephen tickets whenever he wanted them for the upcoming season in thanks for his help.

There had been a small photo opportunity beforehand in which Stephen confidently told them that the surgery, though not without risk, was very common and would hopefully help alleviate the pain Derick had been in. He’d pose for some photos with Derick while he was in recovery and smile and tell his family what an amazing patient the ex-ballet dancer had been.

He ate lunch alone before joining his team to set out what was about to happen.

It was standard, standard, boring, boring all the way. But the ballet tickets would be worth it. Maybe he’d even attempt to take a date? No, that was… that was, no. He didn’t need a date. Didn’t need someone who didn’t appreciate the ballet.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen found himself telling the family 14 hours after the start of surgery. The wife (third wife of his patient, he’d noted) and his daughter (who was possibly older than the wife) had been waiting for hours. “We encountered a complication.”

“A complication?” The wife looked confused but the daughter was already breaking down, already understanding where this was going. Understanding that there was no way the operation would have gone on for this long if the end result had been favorable.

“There was a vascular growth in your husband’s lumbar area. He bled out as we tried to tackle the tumor–”

The mother fell to the ground next.

It was a simple surgery.

Derick had experienced some back pain and numbness in one foot when he presented originally.

Stephen felt himself talking, but it didn’t make any sense to him. Even if logically he knew: every surgery has a risk. Even though logically he understood that you couldn’t always see everything you’re going to encounter until you’re in there look at it. The tumor hadn’t been visible on the scan done for the spinal surgery as they hadn’t been looking in the right place. The radiographer had messed up – potentially. Stephen clenched his fists as a councilor from the hospital’s staff took over to help the family.

There’d be an inquest later to weigh up if Derek would have survived if he hadn’t had the surgery. But they hadn’t known enough going in and he’d bled out faster than they could have expected. They’d also later discover the base problem had been prostate cancer that had spread to the spine already. Derek had been on his way to death – but it shouldn’t have happened so fast. 

Stephen’s eyes were itchy and gritty by the time the sun came up the morning after Derek’s death. He had notes to finish dictating and reports to write while it was still fresh, still painful in his mind. And then once he left the building finally, he could remind himself that he couldn’t carry the weight of every life he touched on his shoulders. 

Derek’s death would be in the news and Stephen knew as a result he wouldn’t be turning on his TV for a while.

Shirley managed to catch him on his way out of the building.

“You still owe me 10 minutes in the free clinic, Dr. Strange, don’t think I didn’t find out you left early.”

“Bite me,” he shot back over his shoulder. He wasn’t feeling anger, but it was easier to pretend he did than acknowledge the sorrow. The failure.

“You want to get fired this badly?”

He turned about and walked up to her. “My patient died last night I really don’t give a–”

Out of the corner of his eye Stephen spotted him,  _ Stark,  _ walking in like he owned the place, that annoying bounce in his step, whistling away and he strolled towards the reception desk. He was dressed in a finely fitted three-piece suit, a silvery gray that brought out the potentially artificial highlights of gray in his hair and beard.

Stephen was scowling before he knew it and took a step towards Stark, only for a hand to anchor him back.

“You’ve had a trying time, but please don’t do something you regret,” Shirley insisted. “You’re an exceptionally gifted surgeon, Dr. Strange, but you need sleep more than anything right now. Do you need me to call you an Uber?”

Probably, Stephen thought. His thoughts were disconnected and floating around his head like it was suddenly too large and yet too small all at once. A part of him thought he would probably be cured if he could just punch Stark, just the once. Just a little punch. But no. Shirley was right. And punching someone was a very stupid idea when your entire career, entire  _ life _ , was based on the dexterity of your hands.

Stephen turned back to Shirley. “Are you still sure I can’t have my parking space back?”

She firmly shook her head in the negative.

“I’ll take that taxi then,” he sighed finally. It probably was for the best if he didn’t drive right now.

“Are you okay to–”

“Am I okay to get my own taxi? I think I can just about manage that.”

Wearily he moved to the door and was back home before he realized it, sinking into the sheets his housemaid must have changed recently.

When he woke up things would feel better.

Maybe in the morning he could even get his parking space back, and then everything would be right with the world again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first multi-chapter fic for the Marvel fandom. I've written a few un-published one-shots, but mostly I've been focused on my Supernatufal fanfic the last couple of years. 
> 
> I'm a massive multishipper when it comes to MCU stuff, but this fic just jumped to my mind almost fully formed and it's been such a fun thing to write. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange Discord too. 
> 
> AO3 is no longer counting hits from users who aren't logged in, so I'd be really grateful for a quick comment just so I know there's someone out there as interested as I was in an IronStrange non-powered AU. I couldn't find many when I went looking so rolled up my sleeves and started writing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen's doing just _fine_. 
> 
> Possibly. 
> 
> Maybe. 
> 
> Christine checks in on Stephen following the death of his patient and we find out some of what Tony Stark is up to at the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who read Chapter 1! 
> 
> I've decided to try updating on Saturday/Sunday, and also on Wednesday. I want to get the fic all up now I've started posting, but I'm also keen to have time to look through so I hope this is a good compromise. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thanks for clicking!

Stephen woke up around midday and lost the rest of the day to drinking. He wasn’t scheduled to be anywhere: or at least, wasn’t scheduled to be anywhere important enough that anyone would try to get hold of him if he didn't show.

His spirits were up the next morning following his day of rest. He headed to the hospital early in the back of another Uber since he'd left his normal car at the hospital. He’d given half a thought to driving himself in his other car, maybe using it to block-up Stark’s stolen spot and just leaving in there indefinitely, but Shirley seemed the type to keep her promise of having him towed.

His day was to be fully-booked with consultations. Cases the Chief of Surgery dangled in front of him to try and see what he’d bite. Sometimes it was an exciting task: could he figure out from the vague files which would ultimately turn out to be the most rewarding surgeries? Yes. Normally. And when he didn’t, he’d simply claim he’d known a different truth, find zebras amongst the fields of horses they presented him with. 

Without Christine there to invite him to lunch, and having thoroughly alienated himself from many of his other fellow staff members, forgetting simple things like nourishment was fairly easy to do on his busiest days. After getting out of his sixth consultation, with the images of what the procedure would be like still whizzing across his synapses, Stephen set out to the nearest vending machine. He wasn’t hungover, per-say, but the messed up sleep schedule and all that extra walking that came from not having his regular parking space were messing with his otherwise normally (relative) cheery disposition. Candy was definitely required to make it through the afternoon. He’d go to the gym tonight as penance. Or, maybe gym tomorrow night... free himself up tonight to go to a bar instead. 

Mind full of surgery and potential hook-ups, it took Stephen a moment to notice the vending machine wasn’t dispensing what he’d ordered as it had none of the required items.

He hit the machine with the flat of his hand, as if that was going to magically make it refill.

“Hey! Stop doing that!”

Stephen looked at the man speaking. He had overalls on and was pushing a cleaning cart. He certainly didn't look like the vending machine police. 

“Where’s the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups?”

The janitor looked into the machine.

“Well, not in there. Hitting it isn’t going to do anything though, you jackass.” The janitor walked off, muttering to himself about self-centered doctors.

Stephen needed another vending machine. Now the thought of candy had been put into his mind, the peanut and chocolate mix was all his taste buds wanted. More than anything else, that was all he needed and then the day would be fixed.

Stephen went wandering to parts unknown in search of a vending machine still containing his preferred snack.

The shrill giggles as he approached the machine should have warned him where he was.

His prize dropped to the collection area and he bent over to reach it. When he stood back up, a child was standing next to the machine, looking between him and the machine sadly.

“That was the last Peanut Butter Cup, mister.”

“Yes.” Stephen tore open the wrapper.

“But I wanted one.”

Stephen arched an eyebrow at the child. “Tough?”

The child fake coughed. “But I got cancer.”

The chocolate was melting on his tongue and the endorphins kicking in.

“Even more of a reason for you to not have candy.”

His eyes were looking over the child, trying to diagnose, trying to understand without having to read the notes or talk to the child. His mind wanted to know though, wanted to be able to peer beneath the skin of the kid and figure his diagnosis out.

Suddenly though, he had another thought. There was a second candy in the wrapper, untouched.

“I’ll give you my second cup if you tell me what Tony Stark does here when he visits.”

The child looked up at him, studied him, and then nodded with determination, sticking out a sweaty, little hand.

“Candy first, then questions.”

“Very well,” Stephen sighed, handing over his treasure.

With a mouth full of chocolate and peanut butter, the child started to talk. “He does robot club.”

Which sounded familiar. Like someone had mentioned this very thing not long ago… someone annoying.

“And that is?”

The kid shrugged. “Ya know, we make robots and stuff.”

“Are your parents aware?”

“They usually come along too at the end, and we show off our robots! I built one that can pick up a pencil.” The kid looked so proud of himself, eyes wide and chocolate-smeared grin beaming.

“Do the robots fight each other?” Stephen couldn’t imagine what fun there was in building something that just picked up a pencil.

The kid screwed up his face in mild disgust. “Why would you want robots to fight each other? Tony says they are our friends.”

“ _Friends?_ ”

“Well, yeah. Just like he has DUM-E, who is his friend.”

“What is a dummy?”

“A robot. Keep up, stupid.”

It was on the tip of Stephen’s tongue to lash out with _I have an advanced doctorate in medical sciences and am a board-certified doctor_ , but he knew even without putting the effort in that the kid wouldn’t care one bit. 

“So he brings in his robots, you play with them, and make your own, and they play together. And that’s everything?”

The kid, to his credit, spent a good moment thinking it through, searching his memory. 

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“He doesn’t bring candy?”

No.”

“Fireworks?”

The kid looked confused. “Why would he–”

“Puppies?”

“No,” the kid laughed, teeth smeared with chocolate. “But, that’s not a bad idea for my next robot.”

***

Shirley looked like she was actually just about to go home when Stephen planted himself in front of her door, blocking her exit. He noted with distant curiosity the photo of two beaming, gap-toothed smiles on her wall. Her children, he assumed.

“Dr. Strange, here to arrange when you’re doing your make-up clinic hours?”

“No.”

She sighed and went about tidying up the papers on her desk. “If you’re here to complain about the parking spot–”

“I’m not,” he interrupted, in what he thought was a soothing tone.

“Given up there?” She didn’t look convinced.

Stephen gave her a blank look, trying not to admit how much it still annoyed him. “No. I’m here to ask if you think it is _appropriate_ that someone like Tony Stark is allowed to spend so much time with the children.”

Shirley stood up, back straight, and put her hands on her hips.

“What exactly are you trying to imply?”

“Absolutely nothing. I just wonder how it would look to the outside world if they knew…”

She held up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. If this is a homophobic-led allegation because of his bisexuality, I will write you up this very second and ensure you’re not working here by the end of the month.” Her nostrils were flaring and Stephen’s jaw dropped a little.

“Homophobic? What? I simply mean that he’s a _weapons manufacturer._ ” Stephen felt winded. That wasn’t what he was trying to imply. Besides the fact it’d be horrendously hypocritical of him to even suggest such things.

“Oh, that,” Shirley rolled her eyes. “You understand that’s only a fraction of what the company does, don’t you? I don’t fully agree with it either, but–”

“You’re allowing him to teach the children robotics. What possible qualifications does someone who makes guns for a living have for that?”

Shirley was putting her coat on and rummaging through her bag at this point, barely paying Stephen any attention.

“He actually has a master’s degree in child psychology. This robotics program is something he’s devised and the curriculum has been fully inspected by several well-known leaders in the area. He also has another diploma in teaching. All the parents and guardians of the children involved have given full parental consent before they can join the robotics club. It’s therapy, Dr. Strange. He’s helping these children. Something akin to animal therapy, as I understand it.”

He’s an engineer, Stephen wanted to argue. His mind was turning over every piece of information he knew about Stark and couldn’t find anything that either agreed or disagreed with Shirley’s statements.

“Can you get out of my way?” she said archly. “I’d like to be able to get home at some point today.”

Stephen moved as requested.

“And Dr. Strange?”

“Yes?” he sighed.

“If you approach Tony Stark, I’ll know about it. And even if I don’t see it, someone will tell me. If I hear anything about you bothering him, so much as sending him a letter or an email, you’ll be on duty at the free clinic every week until you stop working here.”

Even if the day had been dull in so many ways, Stephen found himself with a new puzzle. Why would Tony Stark care enough to donate huge sums to the hospital, but on top of that, create and develop a new robot-centric therapy? Stark was clearly getting _something_ out of all of this, and it wasn’t just tax relief.

***

Stephen had been very well behaved since his last confrontation with Shirley. Incredibly well behaved, if he did say so himself. Which was why Christine’s phone call a week later felt a little mean.

“I hear you took a stretch limo to work every day this week and then yesterday presented accounts with an invoice for it, calling it a _necessary work expense._ ”

Stephen sat himself down and propped his feet up on his favorite footstool. He could sense this call might go on a while.

“Hello to you too, Christine. I’m doing very well, thank you for asking.”

“Stephen.”

“How are things?” he continued in an airy tone. 

“If you came to visit me sometime I could tell you. I do not live that far away.”

Stephen pulled a face, grateful it was just an audio call and not video. Since Christine had moved to downtown, she might as well have been on the other side of the Earth. Not that she appeared to share Stephen’s sentiment over this.

“They’re trying to drive me to quit,” he answered instead, to distract her from asking why he wouldn’t visit.

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

You’d know, he thought meanly, you’d know and be there to see it if you hadn’t decided it was time for motherhood.

“They took my parking space.” There, he said it, and he didn’t even think he was pouting. He deserved another Scotch for that alone.

Christine let out a breath. “Well, that’s not a big deal, is it? I thought something awful had happened.”

“Perhaps not to you.”

“Yes, I suppose being a literal ticking time-bomb with the pre-eclampsia and all is giving me a slightly different perspective on things,” she lightly chided.

“I… how are you? And,” he sighed, “Blob?” He hated that she called it that. He hated that it made his heart feel a little warm to think of Blob.

“Blob and I are doing well. You should come visit. Chris would love to get your opinion on how to make me get even more bed rest, which isn’t physically possible at this point.

“I miss you, Stephen,” she added without prompt.

“I miss you too, Christine,” he replied, but not out loud. Never out loud.

He missed her, loved her, he'd always love her in some way. But he was happy with how things were now after discovering how awkward things were between them when they’d tried that. There had even been a certain amount of relief when she started dating, and later married, Chris, who at least seemed agreeable to Stephen and treated Christine with the utmost care and attention, in the manner she deserved.

Whatever the state of things between them, he knew he didn’t want to have to live without her in his life.

“Could you perhaps not torment the administration at the hospital?”

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Perhaps.”

“How was the limo ride all week?” she laughed, sounding less serious now she’d passed on the message.

“Awful,” he admitted, finding himself smiling. “Very uncomfortable, and long. Those things can’t nip in and out of traffic.”

Christine asked after his cases and he went through the highlights of recent weeks. She’d read on the Huffington Post’s website about the death of his patient, so at least he hadn’t been required to catch her up there.

The knot in his chest that had been building felt looser by the time they’d concluded their call.

Part of the storm he’d been feeling lately was that of fear, a true fear, for the health of Christine and her unborn baby. The pre-eclampsia had left Christine taking maternity leave far earlier than anticipated. And the knowledge that even after she’d delivered, she didn’t intend to be back working for at least six months was hard for Stephen to stomach. He felt like if she’d gone on maternity leave when planned that at least he could have worked up to it. Instead, one day she’d been there, the next she’d been gone.

Not that he was lonely. No, not at all.

Perhaps a little bit. Perhaps. But only for the physical. He hadn’t been laid in… well, he wasn’t too sure when.

Stephen changed, grabbed a jacket and headed to his favorite pick-up spot. He couldn’t do anything about Christine being gone, but he could do something about his other problems.

***

So maybe it _was_ emotional loneliness he was feeling, not physical? That was the thought that occurred to him as he rushed Flick? Flippy? Felicia? Whatever her name was, out of his apartment at 1am.

“I’d let you stay but I have surgery in the morning. Brain surgery and all, I need my rest.” It wasn’t a line, he really did have surgery. But he also didn’t want to deal with waking up a stranger the next morning. Didn’t want to have to deal with anything potentially complicated.

She smiled and nodded understandingly.

“My dad’s a dentist,” she told him, as if that explained her easy acceptance.

He smiled at that and hoped in the low-level light of his entrance hall it looked like he cared.

“I’ll see you again?” he asked her.

“I’d like that,” she said, kissing him lightly.

She smelt good, Stephen noticed again. Her dark hair looking somehow neat even in the face of all the rolling around they’d done in his bed not even an hour prior. Her dress had a silvery-gray look to it that made it seem familiar, like he’d seen it in a shopfront. She had large, expressive eyes which reminded him slightly of Christine's. 

The surgery went well the next day and he put all thoughts of his melodramatic 1am loneliness crisis behind him. And after an enjoyable lunch, he did some post-operative care assessments with previous patients, marveling at his own work as he did. He even received a message from Felicia (so her name in his phone’s address book said) saying she was free tomorrow evening if he wanted to meet up again.

And yet, by the evening, that irritating sensation was back again. The hollow feeling he’d started to become so aware of after Christine’s phone call. The further from the hospital he walked that evening, as he took the endless journey to where his car was now parked, the worse the sensation got.

It’s this damn parking space, Stephen thought with a scowl as he opened up his driver-side door and turned the engine on. The space was cursed. He could do everything he could think of to make himself feel better, but without having his original space back, nothing was ever going to feel right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humms, what will Stephen do next, I wonder... hehehe, I know, and oh boy oh boy, when he hatches a scheme he really goes for it. 
> 
> I know Christine isn't at the hospital right now, but she is definitely still in the fic A Lot because I love their interactions so much. Have no fear, she's not disappearing at all. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange haven Discord too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen kicks things up a notch in plan Get My Parking Space Back. 
> 
> Shirley deserves a holiday. 
> 
> Tony is adorable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter were originally one, but it got so much longer than I'd anticipated so I split them up. 
> 
> This chapter was pretty much most of the reason I wanted to write this fic, because, tehehe, I've always wanted to write this trope. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Stephen’s main problem in Plan Get Back My Parking Space was that the plan’s name was too long to start with and also that Shirley had eyes everywhere. He also had to contend with the fact he wasn’t meant to be talking to the Sainted Tony Stark, who – surely just to piss off Stephen – was still turning up to the hospital for at least a few hours, three times a week at a minimum. It was almost like he knew Stephen had been planning on him just growing bored of the hospital. Now it had been nearly three agonizing months and Stark looked set to be visiting for the foreseeable future. Always requiring his parking space. The nerve that man must have.

Shirley had assigned Stephen hours in the free clinic for just plotting to corner Stark in the one section of the canteen he’d figured out didn’t have a security camera covering it. And because she’d figured it out, and had indeed been correct in her findings, he dutifully did the hours. He probably shouldn’t have made his trail of inquiries with the security staff so obvious, and so accepted this as a form of self-punishment for lack of sneak.

One fortuitous day he happened to check his emails and read one from HR. A hospital fundraiser had been set for the upcoming Friday, a gala dinner and auction. If he couldn’t approach Stark at the hospital, he might be permitted to approach him outside of the hospital. The likelihood of Stark turning up felt worth the gamble of attending.

“Felicia,” he greeted once she’d picked up the phone. “It is Stephen, Stephen Strange.” Stephen begged silently that would be enough for him to identify himself and he wouldn’t have to add _we screwed and then I called you a cab and I haven’t contacted you since but I need a date so I can take down my nemesis._

“Stephen! I wasn’t sure if I’d be hearing from you.” Her voice sounded a little different than he remembered from his vague memories.

“You know, the life of a surgeon, things have been a little hectic. I’m just calling as there’s an event on for the hospital at the end of the week and I thought it might be a _pleasant_ opportunity for us to get together again?”

It wasn’t that he was against attending the event alone, but he was certain he’d look less suspicious if he went with someone. And at least this way he’d have someone there he knew. Christine’s whole pregnancy thing really was a great inconvenience at times like this. What was he supposed to do? Just make friends with some of his other co-workers? Insanity. Or worse yet, talk to some of the donors? Awful, just awful.

“Oh, that’s short notice...” she sounded worried.

“Apologies, I only found out about it myself this morning.”

“I can ask Brian if he’ll look after Amy for the night, I suppose. It would be nice to let my hair down a bit.”

Whoever _Brian_ and _Amy_ were, Stephen felt he probably should have known. It probably had come up when they’d been talking the night they’d first met. She had a child then, but was separated.

“It would be...” he searched for the right word, something encouraging and yet not too creepy, “a delight to see you again. To get to know you better.” Perhaps he’d even come to believe this too as the evening went on. She hadn’t been bad company the time they’d met before. And Stephen wasn’t completely against the idea of a slightly more regular interaction.

Felicia didn’t reply for a moment.

“I think I’d like that too, Stephen. I’ll speak to Amy’s dad and get back to you as soon as I can? Text me the details of the event, if you would?”

“Of course.”

***

Amy was not a child, it resulted. Amy was a parrot.

“FWEEET FWEEEEET!” the parrot screeched while ferociously flapping its wings. “No, no!”

“I’m sorry,” Felicia had greeted him as she’d opened the door to her apartment and let him in. “Brian’s running late and Amy is not–” the bird screeched again in the background. Felicia chased the bird into another room.

He looked around her apartment, taking in the lavishly decorated settings. It was chic, but not cold, unlike his own home. Artwork was covering the walls, from small photo canvases to very large abstract pieces. He cast an eye over the photos while he waited for her to reappear, taking in the many images of Felicia with people Stephen guessed must have been her friends, going by the way none of them looked remotely related.

After waiting ten minutes Stephen started to wonder if it would be impolite for him to exit the apartment before Felicia was ready to go. He’d been expecting a child he could feign politeness towards, not a creature with the intellect of a child, but the talons and pitch of something far more demon-like. Something with a far greater height advantage when it came to pooping on things. The bird did calm down by the time Brian turned up. Brian at least met Stephen’s expectations and did seem to be Felica’s ex.

“I’m sorry about all of that,” Felicia said with a rush when they finally shut the apartment door behind them and made their way out to where Stephen was parked (illegally) on the curb outside.

“It’s nothing you could have helped,” Stephen said courteously, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of leaving and attending the fundraiser alone.

“We’re going to be awfully late.”

They slipped into the car and Stephen was just counting his blessings the bird hadn’t managed to mess up his tux.

“Fashionably late,” Stephen assured her. He didn’t care if they missed everything at the event as long as he got a few minutes with Tony Stark to discuss the parking situation. And hopefully trick the other man into giving the parking space back to its rightful owner. He’d been planning his opening gambit to the conversation for a while. One of the many options at his disposal resulted in some form of a bet in which the prize was the parking space. Foolproof, really. 

***

Felica was an artist, jewelry designer, and gallery owner, he picked up from context clues on their way to the event. Stephen suspected from the nice apartment she’d lived in she was either very successful at one of these pursuits or rich by other means. She was dressed beautifully and barring the incident with the parrot, so far Stephen had found Felicia to be good company. Her eyes reminded him somewhat of Christine’s, which probably contributed more to the warmth he felt looking at her than he’d ever admit to. She didn’t even seem to take upset at the fact he hadn’t called her back in so long. 

He let the valet park his car once they’d reached the hotel and offered Felicia a hand to step out. She did look beautiful, something he hadn’t quite appreciated in the panic over what the angry parrot was up to.

“Do you go to many events like this?”

Stephen took her arm as they walked in.

“A few, when required.”

It wasn’t exactly sparkling conversation, but he was preoccupied trying to spot Stark, head swiveling around as they walked. They had arrived late, and Stephen could see people were starting to make their way to the table for the dinner portion of the evening. After which would be the auction, followed by dancing. Missing the drinks and elbowing at the start was a blessing in that he hadn’t had to make small talk, but also an irritant that he’d lost this early opportunity to confront Stark.

“Dr. Strange,” a familiar voice spoke out, distracting him from his search.

“Shirley. How nice to see you.” He wasn’t scowling. He was just… frowning, with attitude. He noticed her look between him and Felicia. “Felicia, this is Shirley, she’s one of the administrators at the hospital.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Felicia lied, reaching out to shake hands with Shirley. Or at least, Stephen assumed it was a lie.

“This is my wife, Joan,” Shirley introduced.

While they were occupied being pleasant, Stephen used his height advantage to scan the crowd.

“Felicia, as in Felicia Dubois, the artist?” Joan asked. 

“You know my work?” Felicia sounded shocked.

“My sister bought me one of your pieces last year!” Joan said excitedly, pulling up the sleeve of her dress to show off the bracelet she had on. 

“I wondered why you’d bought tickets to come,” Shirley spoke softly, the administrator’s eyes narrowing dangerously as she looked up at Stephen. Both their dates were caught up in discussing glass fusion techniques and the use of precious metals in Felicia’s recent sculpture series.

“Hums, yes, well you know I do love to help the children.”

“This is for the– you know what,” she shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t matter. If you’re willing to donate the money I’m not going to stop you. And good luck trying to get to Tony Stark here, every charity fundraiser in the city has turned up to try and charm him out of his checkbook.”

She pointed through the crowd to a huddle of people on the other side of the ballroom.

Stephen scowled. Shirley, unfortunately, made a very good point.

Stark looked to be in his element though, conversing with several people while charming his adoring crowd. It was sickening to see.

As the master of ceremonies declared they were to sit for the dinner, Stephen tried for one last attempt.

“I suppose it is too much to ask if I have been seated on Tony Stark’s table, being one of the best-regarded members of hospital staff here?”

Shirley laughed and took Joan’s hand.

“What fun would it be to make it that easy for you?”

As it turned out, they were sat with Joan, Shirley, and enough rich twits that Stephen knew he’d have to be on his best behavior throughout dinner.

“Have you been together long?” Joan asked, as their starter courses were brought out.

“This is our second date,” Felicia laughed and shared a look with Stephen.

Stephen smiled back, understanding the humor of the situation. Their last “date” hadn’t exactly been anything more than two beings desperate for a screw, but oh well.

“That’s brave, Dr. Strange,” Joan commented.

“With such lovely company, and such a splendid venue, I couldn’t think of any better setting,” he retorted. “And Felicia is a very interesting person. Gallery owner, artist, jewelry designer, sculptor? Do your talents know no ends?” he said, hoping to flatter her and spark further conversation between her and the others at the table so he could focus on finding Stark.

One of the others at their table, upon hearing he was a doctor, asked him what his speciality was. Stephen tried his best not to sigh as he was revealed as a neurosurgeon to the table. Sure enough, by the time the main course was being delivered, he was being asked for his opinion on the lady’s sister’s back.

He suspected Shirley and Joan were playing footsie under the table from the giggling they were trying to hold back, and the way the table cloth was moving. It was strange, though admirable, to see Shirley seem so relaxed. It brought a different look to her face than he was used to seeing from her as she ignored his complaints and assigned him more hours at the clinic.

When the last of the dessert things were cleared, Stephen started to feel the thrill of anticipation again for the potential for the night. After the auction came the dancing, his last real chance to get to Stark before the evening was over.

“I don’t think you come to these events often at all,” Felicia leaned in to whisper when the auction was underway. “Which makes me wonder if you just wanted an excuse to see me again, or if you have other reasons to come and didn’t want to go by yourself. I’m used to people buttering me up because they want one of my pieces, or to buy something before it hits auction at my gallery… but you don’t seem to care about any of that.”

She didn’t look accusing or upset, more curious than anything.

“Was it wrong to want to see you again?”

“You and I both know there wasn’t any anticipation of meeting again, and I hadn’t heard from you in weeks.”

“And yet here we are,” wondering why she had agreed if she felt this way. 

She sat back and studied him a moment. “Whatever it is, I’m going to figure it out.”

“Good luck,” he whispered, feeling himself smiling. She was on to him, but clearly willing to play in whatever game was going on.

Stephen felt his phone vibrating and checked in case it was an emergency at the hospital. It was just Christine messaging to ask why he was at the dinner. He rolled his eyes and put his phone away. Of course she’d somehow found out.

“For our last lot of the evening, we’re auctioning off dates with some of New York’s most eligible!”

Stephen tuned out. He didn’t need to see the pathetic, desperate creatures willing to throw themselves at buying a date at an auction. He spent twenty minutes ignoring it all and reading through emails on his phone before the announcement came that was to change his luck that evening. 

“And as a last minute addition to this, closing up our auction for the night, we have just added a date night with Tony Stark!”

_What?_

Sure enough, getting up onto the stage waving and smiling oh-so-charmingly was Tony Stark.

Stark took the microphone from the auctioneer and waved at the crowd.

“Hi there! I heard they were down a person and I thought to myself, with all the generous people in this room, I’d be lucky to get to spend an evening with any of you.”

Stephen blanched at the woman on his table who looked like she was honest to God swooning over Stark.

“I enjoy all food, especially Italian. Long walks and dazzling conversation.”

What an arrogant ass, Stephen thought. Standing up there, acting like, like… Stephen shook his head, clearing the thoughts of Stark walking barefooted on a beach against a full moon from his mind.

“Let’s start the bidding at let’s say, $5,000,” the auctioneer declared.

You’d have to have some sort of brain injury to want to _pay_ to spend time with that well-groomed moron.

The bid was at $12,000 before Stephen stuck his hand up.

“$20,000,” he shouted.

Shirley winced. “Think about what you’re doing, Dr. Strange!” she hissed.

“Did you hear that, ladies and gentlemen? We have a bid of $20,000 from table sixteen!”

He did think, for just a moment, only mildly aware of the other bids coming in from around the room.

“$28,000!” he shouted.

How much was this parking space worth to him? $30k, he decided. That was it and he’d give up. He didn’t even have to spend the whole dinner with Stark, just a few minutes of it, get his piece in and–

But the auction was still going on and he was about to lose. 

“Going once for $68,000 dollars, going twice...”

“$70,000!” Ah. He’d said that, hadn’t he?

“Going once! Going twice!...” the auctioneer paused, “SOLD!” the gavel went down, sealing Stephen’s fate. “Thank you everyone for your contributions, donations, and bids tonight! We’ll do a tally of what we’ve raised and put the total up on our website later. If you’ve had a winning bid please see one of our assistants in the blue shirts at some point tonight to give them your payment information and organize receiving your lot. The ballroom is open again for dancing if you’d like to make your way through!”

Stephen watched Stark shake the hand of the auctioneer, grin still so bright Stephen was starting to wonder if Stark was drugged.

“ _Oh God,_ ” Shirley moaned.

“There, there,” Joan consoled her, patting her shoulder. “It won’t be that bad?” She looked up at Stephen with a hopeful look.

Stephen drained the last half of his champagne and smiled, feeling smug and a little out of control. “Well, this has turned out to be a slightly more expensive evening than anticipated.” He turned to Felicia and offered a hand, “Would you perhaps care to dance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Stephen, what have you done? 
> 
> It was so hard to pick a final amount for what he'd be prepared to spend. I looked at a few of these exclusive kind of auctions that happen and the number I settled on was well within the realms of possibility. 
> 
> Join me next chapter where! Spoiler alert: Tony kisses Stephen. True story. Kinda.
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange haven Discord too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of the charity gala... 
> 
> Tony and Stephen should probably talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of the previous chapter. It was just too long to post as one, and there's a tone shift as well, so it didn't fit well with belonging to either the chapter before or after it. 
> 
> I promise next chapter is Stephen and Tony's $70k date though ;) 
> 
> Previously: Stephen has just won a date night with Tony Stark. Feeling jubilant that he's secured a means to which he can get Stark to give back his parking space, he's decided to settle in and try to enjoy the rest of the evening.

“So, you have a crush on Tony Stark, and used me so you wouldn’t have to come to the event by yourself?” Felicia concluded. "You're not stalking him, are you?" 

“No!” Stephen _ felt  _ offended. He  _ was _ offended.  _ A crush? _

“You just spent a decadent amount of money to have dinner with the man.”

“I have matters I wish to discuss with him.”

They weren’t dancing. It turned out Felicia didn’t like to dance. Now that Stephen had sorted his talk-to-Stark plan, he felt much more relaxed about the evening. He might even try to put effort into getting to know his date.

“Matters like, you want to kiss him? And hold him? And see if his ass looks as good in reality as it does in all those photos that have leaked over the years?”

Stephen narrowed his eyes at her. “I certainly do not!”

“I know him, you know?” Felicia smirked and took another sip of her drink. “We had a mutual friend who used to buy up a lot of my art.” She sighed gently, looking slightly pained.

“Oh?”

“I’m not going to introduce you, that would be weird. But he’s a good man, really eccentric, but good."

Something seemed off to Stephen. “We’re on a date and you’re trying to get me to ask someone else out,” he realized.

“I must confess something myself.”

“I haven’t confessed anything, but go on.”

“I think I want to get back together with Brian.”

“Amy’s… father?”

“He was always so good with her.” She looked sadly at her glass. He noted for the first time the delicate earrings she was wearing, the colors of which looked – now he thought about it – the same pallet of color as the parrot’s plumage. “And when you called me up about tonight, I thought, well, I wondered if I could make him jealous by having you come over to pick me up, knowing he’d be by to look after Amy. I haven’t been in the mood much to look for someone else since that night I met you, so it just seemed easy to agree when you offered.”

“You should call him, let him know how you feel.” He thought of Christine. He thought of when Christine had first met Chris. “You never know when the person you care for most might end up elsewhere.”

“You know, for a one-night-stand, you’re still one of the smarter decisions I’ve made in a while?” She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll go call him now, check in on Amy at least.” With that, she walked off and out of his eyeline. 

Stephen should have realized his act of kindness was going to backfire on him. Now he was standing alone, without someone to shield him from unwanted conversation. The blonde that subsequently walked up to him looked like she was already pricing his organs up.

“Christine Everhart,” she said by way of introduction.

“Dr. Stephen Strange,” he replied, shaking her hand back just as firm a grip as she gave him.

“I’m a reporter,” she declared. “I’m curious about the man who just spent, what was it? $60,000 for dinner with Tony Stark?”

“$70,” he corrected begrudgingly, still remembering he had to pay for that later. “And a reporter for which publication, exactly?”

“ _ The New York Times _ . What’s your hope for the  _ date _ with Tony Stark?”

She was smiling and looked to be in her element, which only set Stephen on edge. He had to be careful with this one.

“To thank him, of course. For all his kind assistance to the hospital.”

“So you work at Metro-General Hospital, Doctor?”

He thought it through and couldn’t see any disadvantage to telling her the truth. “Yes, I’m a neurosurgeon there.”

Christine Everhart was out for a good story, and Stephen realized he could give her one.

_ “ _ Are you aware Tony Stark’s been spending  _ copious _ amounts of time at the hospital the last few months?”

_ “ _ Oh?” she feigned, as if it was a mere curiosity.

_ “ _ In the pediatric wards.”

_ “ _ Doing what?” she pushed.

_ “ _ That’s the thing, the hospital doesn’t want to let the rest of us know. But, he’s a weapons manufacturer, is he not? Is he pushing the boat out? Using his time with the children to test, oh I don’t know, child-sized weapons for child armies?”

_ “ _ Are you aware of–”

_ “ _ Christine, how fabulous to see you here,” she was interrupted by an interluder. 

It was the closest Stephen had actually been in person to Stark.

_ “ _ Tony! How wonderful to see you.” They exchanged steely-eyed smiles. “Your future date here was just telling me what you’d been up to at the hospital.”

Stark’s eyes flicked to Stephen. “Oh?”

_ “ _ Testing child-size weapons?”

Tony’s mouth opened and closed. “Excuse me?” he took his sunglasses off – and honestly, why was he wearing sunglasses inside? At night? – and gave Stephen a scrutinizing look.

_ “ _ I never said anything of the sort,” Stephen defended.

_ “ _ Perhaps not, but you were fully prepared to hint at it. Which is clearly nonsense. But,” she turned back towards Stark. “I do have a column due, you know?”

_ “ _ When don’t you?” Stark replied airily.

_ “ _ Give me a proper story, Tony, and I won’t publish the half-hinted rumors he’s clearly trying to spread. Always good to have an anonymous, inside tip.”

Stephen felt momentarily offended he was being used as a pawn here.

Stark pinched the bridge of his nose.

_ “ _ You’re putting me in a hard place here, Christine.”

She looked him up and down. “Don’t act like it is the first time, Tony. Something’s going on at Stark Industries, I just can’t figure out what.”

_ “ _ So you followed me here, to a charity event? A little lowbrow for someone of your credentials, don’t you think?”

Was Stephen hallucinating? Why were neither of them bothered he was just standing there?

_ “ _ You left Malibu, bought up that huge site in Chicago, which is still yet to be built on, and seemed to have made a new home for yourself in New York. Adverts have gone up for forty positions for  _ data analysts _ for your company. No one is buying that you’re actually out to hire data analysts. Something is going on.”

_ “ _ I...” Stark looked around the venue. “I want to tell you, but this isn’t a good time or location.”

_ “ _ It is big, then?”

He locked eyes with her and nodded sharply.

Christine looked like a shark that could smell blood in the water. “Soon then, Tony. Or I run this dud’s story,” she thumbed in Stephen’s direction.

_ “Dud? _ ” Stephen felt offended this time.

_ “ _ If you’re going to make lies up about him, at least try to make them slightly believable,” she chastised. “He has many, many flaws, but that’s not one of them. I’ll contact Pepper–”

Christine Everhart blanched at the same time Stark paled considerably.

_ “ _ I mean...” she coughed, going back on herself. 

_ “ _ I’ll have my assistant contact you,” Stark interjected. “We’ll set something up to talk – and soon. You’ll get exclusivity.”

_ “ _ I’m sorry about Pepper,” she added. “She was always very competent, for what it’s worth.”

Stark shut his eyes a moment and breathed out.

_ “ _ You should enjoy the rest of the evening, Christine. I need to make dinner plans with our friend here,” he said as he patted Stephen on the shoulder.

Stephen was resisting the urge to Google who  _ Pepper _ was so he could understand the uneasy air between them.

_ “ _ I’ll still donate the money even if you don’t want to meet,” Stephen found himself saying when Christine (fake Christine, his brain told him, not  _ his _ Christine) finally left.

Stark’s eyebrows jumped up. “Come on, who would turn down a dinner date with one of the country’s leading neurosurgeons?”

Stark was back to the jubilant, all-smiles man he’d been earlier.

_ Who is Pepper? _ Stephen found himself wanting to ask, just to study Stark’s reaction.

_ “ _ Dr. Strange, Tony,” Shirley said.

Where had she even come from?

_ “ _ Shirley, lovely to see you,” Stark greeted, kissing her knuckles.

_ “ _ This is my wife, Joan,” she introduced, casting such a tender look at the other woman.

_ “ _ And a pleasure to meet you, too.” Stark looked around. “I seem to have lost my date for the evening,” he frowned.

_ “ _ You’re here with May Parker, I saw?” Shirley asked.

_ “ _ In theory,” he chortled. “She seems very popular.”

_ “ _ May Parker?” Stephen echoed. The name rang a bell, a very clear bell. “The nurse?”

Stark nodded. “We’ve been friends for a number of years now. She kindly agreed to accompany me tonight, since she knows most of the people. She’s been whispering names in my ear all evening, and,” he looked from Shirley to Joan and said in a hushed voice, “has also been filling me in on all the gossip.”

Joan snorted. “What gossip? It’s all the same. Some crusty, old businessman on his sixth affair with a woman half his age.”

She had a point, Stephen conceded.

Stark threw his head back and laughed.

_ “ _ Well, that’s certainly one way too...” he trailed off, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt a little.

Beneath Stephen could see a metal cuff around his wrist. Stark frowned at it and prodded it a bit. The device vibrated and glowed with symbols Stephen wasn’t familiar with. Stark’s shoulders slumped as he prodded at it further, making other symbols appear.

_ “ _ It seems, I’m afraid, I am being recalled to the office. Thank you kindly for such a wonderful evening, Shirley,” he leaned in and exchanged kisses on the cheek with Shirley. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Joan,” he said between kisses to Joan’s cheeks too.

_ “ _ Dr. Strange,” Stark stuck out his hand. “I look forward to getting together with you soon for our date.”

_ “ _ What, no kiss for me?” Stephen shot back, nonetheless shaking Stark’s hand.

_ “ _ Well, if you insist,” Tony quipped, using their handshake to pull Stephen forwards and kissing him on the cheek as well. He let go of Stephen’s hand and stood back. “You’re right, that was a much better farewell.”

Stephen rubbed at the skin Stark had kissed with his soft, supple lips. He smelled incredible too, Stephen noted. 

Stephen fought the urge to bare his teeth in a scowl at Stark as the other man walked away. 

Maybe this wasn’t just about getting the parking space back, Stephen conceded. Maybe at this point it was more about taking Tony Stark down a notch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I said they'd kiss, heh. Was that not enough?? 
> 
> This is the shortest chapter of the full fic, but it was necessary to set-up a few matters, like, an actual plot. I swear there is one coming. 
> 
> Next chapter is definitely the $70k date, and I'm so excited to share that chapter. It was one of the most fun things to write. It also comes with Stephen getting his lips on Tony's, oooo. 
> 
> Update coming this weekend! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange haven Discord too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does $70,000 buy you for a date with Tony Stark? Stephen Strange is about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE DATE. 
> 
> This fic is not exactly a slow burn, ha. We're more or less 1/3rd of the way through now. It was time to get down to some action! 
> 
> Next update is planned for Wednesday.

Shirley had made it her mission to check in with Stephen every day he was in the hospital to find out if he’d arranged his dinner with Stark yet. This had been going on for weeks before he got to change his answer.

“This Thursday, you'll be happy to know,” he answered, without looking up from the journal he was reading on his tablet.

Shirley winced. “And you won’t just back out?” she tried.

“For the money I paid?” he arched an eyebrow.

“Please, Dr. Strange,” she sounded awfully close to begging.

“Stephen,” he interrupted. “Given how often we’re speaking, you should really call me Stephen.” In much the same manner as _Stark_ had apparently given away to _Tony_ in his mind. It was the fault of the text messages really. He always signed his off with Tony, and, well, it had stuck.

She nodded. “ _Stephen_ ,” she took a deep breath. “I really do just want to ensure you don’t end up, well, pissing Stark off. He has a team of lawyers on retainer so big they have their own baseball league. I know you don’t believe that I’m trying to do my best to help you, but I am.” She sounded and looked so earnest.

“How is Joan doing?” he said to change the topic.

“Well, thank you. How is Felicia?”

“Happy, I assume? She’s gotten back together with her ex soon after the event ended. She was just using me to make him jealous, apparently it worked.”

“Oh,” Shirley frowned.

“No, no,” he dismissed her concern, for fear she might feel any hint of pity towards him. “She and I weren’t really a thing. I think they’re adopting a second parrot soon.”

“I see,” Shirley said, even though she clearly didn’t. “Have you heard from Christine lately?”

“Yes, though should you really be asking me about her? She’s on medical leave for a reason.”

“I’m asking as a friend,” Shirley said firmly.

“Then why do you need to ask me and not go directly to the source?”

Shirley folded her arms. “I have spoken to her, my question is if _you_ have. You’re definitely more intolerable the longer you go without speaking to her.”

 _Ah_. Shirley did probably, maybe, potentially have a point there.

“Yes, I heard from her. She’d been doing well. We talked about the charity event, she told me off for wasting my money, and congratulated me on getting to first base with Tony Stark.”

Shirley snorted at that.

Somehow some camera at the event had caught the brief moment Stark had kissed him on the cheek. Except from the angle they’d been at, it appeared like it could have easily been a lot more than just a peck on the cheek. Christine ( _his_ Christine, not the journalist) had called him up as soon as she saw the photo to ask when he’d started his grand romance with Stark. Stephen had tried to explain everything, but it appeared having also dropped $70,000 to spend an evening with Stark had given him little credibility in the land of _no I do not have a thing going on with Tony._

He’d been responsible for almost a third of the money raised at the auction though. Yay him?

“It’ll be fine, Shirley,” he said in his most comforting voice. The one reserved for patients who were the most annoying. “We’ll go, share a bottle of wine and some overpriced food, and then leave again. I’ll be on my best behavior the whole time.” Or at least, best behavior for as long as Tony Stark was on his best behavior.

“Where are you two eating?”

“ _Le Bernardin,_ ” Stephen replied. Stark had said at the fundraiser he wanted Italian, so Stephen insisted on French. They’d texted back and forth about where, with both of them having strong preferences as to where _not_ and not many to where _yes_. And then a long discussion over which day they’d meet, that had only resulted in both their assistants having to talk and coordinate instead on their behalf. As it turned out neither of them really knew their schedules all that well.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” she said, still sounding and looking suspicious.

“Oh, I will,” Stephen said, trying not to gloat. He definitely would. He had a foolproof plan, after all.

***

Stephen was late to meeting Tony and he didn’t care. The restaurant had sounded like a good idea in theory, but it turned out 155 W 51st street was a pain in the ass to get to from the hospital. He’d left late anyway, having been delayed telling a patient it appeared her surgery hadn’t had the outcome they’d hoped. The aim had been to alleviate her epileptic seizures. And it seemed, even weeks later when things should have been settling down, that it hadn’t helped. In fact, her seizures appeared to be worse than ever.

His patient couldn’t drive, couldn’t hold down a job, was terrified of holding her own child in case she fitted. And he hadn’t been able to help her with any of that. 

Stephen pushed his way into the restaurant and was directed towards where Stark was sitting at the bar.

“Ah, Doctor,” Tony greeted him. “How _strange_ to run into you here. A martini?” he offered, holding out a glass identical to the one he was sipping from.

Stephen picked up the glass and downed it all in just a few, large gulps. He set the glass down again when finished and stood, lips pursed as he looked down on Tony.

“One of those days?”

“Hums,” was Stephen’s only response.

Tony looked at his watch and then up again. “Well, they should have our table ready by now.”

It was still fairly early and the restaurant wasn’t anywhere near to full yet. Absently Stephen wondered if Tony went there a lot, the staff seemed to know him at least.

“This way!” he called, as he strolled off. He was far too jolly, walking around like he owned the joint.

 _Wait._ Did he own the place? That might have explained the ease with which he agreed to eat there after all their back and forth over places.

“I had them set us up a very special table,” Tony explained, opening a door that Stephen suspected went through to the kitchen.

Walking on, he was proven correct. He’d never understood the appeal of eating in the kitchen, but it was meant to be one of the most exclusive dining experiences. At least this way he’d also get to see his food being cooked, he’d be able to tell if any of it was secretly dropped on the floor or–

They weren’t stopping though. Stark was still walking. He’d greeted some of the staff, pausing a moment to carry on a conversation with one man in fluent French.

“This way!” Tony instructed again as they went through another door. The next room was clearly where the dishes, pots, and pans were all washed. Were they eating in there to be hidden away from cameras and other people?

“Just a little further,” Tony said with a graceful smile, opening another door and allowing Stephen to exit before him. Stephen walked out to find himself outside – in an alleyway behind the restaurant.

Stephen frowned at Tony as he joined him.

“Our table,” Tony bowed, gesturing as he did towards a table complete with a red and white gingham-pattern cheesecloth tablecloth.

In the alley.

Instead of seats, they had crates that had been turned on their sides.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Tony offered, sitting himself down on one of the crates.

A vein throbbed in Stephen’s temple.

 _“_ This is what $70,000 buys you these days?” he said archly.

Tony beamed and put a paper napkin from the table over his lap.

“I just thought it might be a little more fun, that’s all.”

“And what are we to eat? Dumpster scraps? Perhaps hunt our own rats? Or just head straight for licking the ground and seeing what kind of bacteria we can pick up?” He looked around at the area, almost anticipating it would start raining just to add to the list of reasons he had to be annoyed.

“If you like,” Tony shrugged, as if he wasn’t aware he was playing a dangerous game here. “I just thought this place had something of a _Lady and the Tramp_ vibe and I’ve wanted to try it for a while.”

“If you’re expecting me to eat pasta from a bowl,” Stephen started, seriously considering just leaving and suing to get his parking space back (on the grounds that it had been _stolen_ from him).

“Not at all! The food will be here in a moment.” He lifted up his left shirt-sleeve slightly and tapped a few things on the arm-cuff device Stephen had spied at the charity fundraiser. “In fact, it should be here in 3… 2… 1...”

There was a brief moment as Stephen looked around, waiting for the food to appear as if by magic.

Tony frowned and tapped his device a few more times. “Ahem, like I said, in 3… 2…” he drew the number out until there was a quiet _beep beep_ – the beep of a scooter, to be exact. 

A Pizza Hut delivery boy drove slowly down the alleyway towards them.

“...1.” Stark finished, as the kid dropped the rest on the scooter and got off.

“A large pepperoni with olives and anchovy?”

“Yup, right over here,” Tony confirmed, as if it could possibly be for anyone else. He slipped the kid a couple of bills, and judging from the look of shock on the kid’s face, Tony Stark was a very generous tipper.

Tony slid the pizza onto the table and flipped open the lid with an enthusiastic “ _Et voila_!”

Just to irritate himself, Stephen’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten in hours with the plan that he’d gorge himself on Tony’s dime at the restaurant.

“No cutlery?”

“Heh, no,” Tony said, reaching in to pick up a slice.

“Seriously, Pizza Hut?” Stephen reached in and picked up a slice. Either Tony and he had the same favorite pizza toppings (unlikely), or Tony had somehow found out what his favorite was (unlikely, and a little creepy).

“I tried like, half a dozen places? They were the only ones willing to deliver back here.”

“I want my parking space back,” Stephen said, after finishing his first slice. Being patient and following his original plan all seemed like a stupid idea now he was faced with the fact Tony Stark was apparently strange enough to pick to eat pizza in an alleyway.

Tony shot him a confused look. “Your space?” he thought for a moment. “Wait, my first day at the hospital, that was you, right? In the Lamborghini Huracán Coupé?”

“You remember the car but not me?”

“It is a beautiful car.”

“Agreed,” Stephen conceded, not even upset. Some of his tension was slowly fading from the day, despite the strange and unusual circumstances he’d found himself in. Perhaps _because_ of the strange and unusual circumstances.

“When I got mine–”

“You have one? _You?”_ He liked his own just a little bit less now.

Tony nodded. “Good Italian brand. I always like to try and keep things traditional,” he grinned and bit into another slice of pizza.

Stephen felt his lip twitch. Tony was so clearly aware of the irony of his words next to the mess of toppings he was eating on the pizza. 

“What else do we have in common, Dr. _Strange_?” Tony’s grin suggested mischief. “You must have had so many puns made with a name like that.”

“It is the curse of having an adjective for a last name, wouldn’t you agree, _Stark?_ You must have had comments made.”

Tony sat up a little. “That’s, well,” he pondered a moment. “Huh. I guess so. No one has ever pointed it out to me before.”

Stephen almost wanted to laugh at the look of confusion on his face. He schooled his features though, not wanting to let this opportunity get away from him.

“So my parking space–”

“Hey, don’t shoot me for having it. The hospital administration assigned it to me. It wasn’t like I knew it was your space. I just asked if it might be possible for me to have one. I’ve got robots and things coming and going, it’s just easier if I’m close to the entrance.”

“Well, it is _mine_. And it has been for years now. I’m there far more often than you, I deserve that space.”

Tony scoffed. “It’s just a parking space, let it go.”

“I shall not,” Stephen insisted, leaning forwards now. “You have no idea the pains of a neurosurgeon. Long operations, difficult consultations, and then all I want to do is get in my car and go home after to relax. I doubt you’ve done a hard day’s work in your life.”

“Hey! I might not be operating on people, but at least I’m a _real_ doctor not an MD,” Tony grumped back.

“A _real_ doctor? I have a PhD as well, if you must know, _Dr. Stark_ . _”_ He did his best to laden the words with as much contempt as possible.

“Well, _Doctor_ , we seem to be at an impasse.”

“Hardly! You’re there, what? Playing with robots!” Stephen tapped himself on the chest. “I’m _saving_ lives!”

He thought at that moment of Mary, his patient from that morning. The woman with epilepsy he’d attempted to treat, but who would still never be able to drive herself down the coast with the wind through her hair again. Whose husband had been terrified of losing her every time she fitted. Of the fact that despite all his credentials, all his training, he hadn’t been able to overcome her body. He didn’t feel much like a hero thinking of the sadness in her eyes or the weariness of her husband’s eyes.

“Fine!” Tony shouted back. “Fine,” he said again, calmer. “I’ll talk to them. You’re right, you do spend more time there.

But I’m not just playing robots with the children. It is a serious therapeutic program I’m trying to put together. And if you really must know,” he paused, Stephen assumed for dramatic effect, “I’m keen to do further medical studies. I was serious when I said at the charity gala I was looking forward to talking to you, Doctor. I have some ideas for artificial limbs and I need a neuro specialist to run a few ideas past.”

Strange grabbed a third slice of the pizza and shoved half of it in his mouth. “Oh?” he asked, through a mouthful of cheese. “You want to hire me as a consultant?” That was, huh, actually intriguing, potentially. Stephen hadn’t seen that coming. 

Tony shrugged. “Only if you think the idea might be valid. I had this dream about a structure that could work to mimic the nervous system. Minimally invasive, perhaps eventually non-invasive.”

“They have bionic limbs that can be controlled by the brain, that’s hardly revolutionary.”

Tony wiped the pizza grease off his fingers and threw his napkin down on the table, pouting a little. “I’m aware of that,” he said, more sharply than Stephen had expected. “But what I’m suggesting is something that gives biofeedback. So they could actually feel things with the limbs. Feel the roughness of the sand, the heat of the pan of water.”

It was an interesting concept. Several issues ticked over in Stephen’s mind.

“So, is this the next big thing for Stark Industries? Now you’ve developed the weapons that blow off the limbs, you’ll replace them?”

He hadn’t meant it to be cruel, he’d been rather enjoying the conversation, as things went. But he didn’t always think things through before they came out. 

Tony winced. “We’re, well,” he looked around the alleyway. “Shutting down the program, if you must know. Eventually. That’s been a big part of what I’ve been trying to achieve the last five years. But some of the contracts are long, and can’t be canceled. By the end of next year though at the latest, Stark Industries won’t be building weapons anymore. I'm working to reinvest profit made on our weapons program elsewhere right now, like the robotics therapy work. Diversify where I spend my own time.”

“Oh.” So that was the big scoop Tony had mentioned to the journalist. Stark Industries _did_ make other things, Stephen even had one of their phones. The phone had just looked the best when he'd gone into the store to pick it out. 

“Yeah.” Tony cast his eyes down. “In ten years time I want people to think of my company and associate it with the giving of life and not the loss of it.” 

“Stephen,” Stephen prompted. “You should call me Stephen if we’re going to work together.” He wanted to hear his name from Tony's lips, needed it all of a sudden. 

“Stephen,” Tony smiled, small, but a smile nonetheless.

A smile did look better on him than the sad look.

“My plan with this is to really release the plans eventually, out to the big, wide world. I’d love to make something that ultimately could be 3D printed.”

“You want to save the world?” Stephen summarised. 

Tony took a deep, relaxing breath in. “Yes. No. Maybe? I know I’ll settle for saving myself. I can’t keep building weapons, I just... I just can’t.”

***

Stephen even let Tony have the last slice of pizza by the time they got there. He was loath to admit it, but he was impressed with the ideas Tony had for the limb neural system. He wasn’t convinced even a little it would, or could work. Plenty of people with more knowledge in this area than Tony Stark had been attempting similar things for years and hadn’t got there.

There was something to Tony though, in the way he spoke, in the depth of his knowledge. He listened with great care to everything Stephen had to say, soaking it up and asking some surprisingly insightful questions.

“Let’s get dessert,” Tony declared, throwing the empty pizza box into one of the dumpsters.

“Let me guess, you have Dairy Queen coming to deliver that?”

“I can do, if you’d like? But I was just going to order from the restaurant,” he nodded in the direction of the building they’d come out of.

“Do they make a decent _tarte Tati,_ by any miracle?”

“Probably, to be honest I always order tiramisu.”

“Tiramisu?”

Tony nodded.

“From a celebrated French restaurant?”

“Well, they always agree to make it for me. It has coffee, and chocolate. What more could you ever want from a dessert?”

Stephen snorted and sent Tony off to order. He took a moment to check his phone while he was alone. 

_Water broken, on our way to the hospital!_

It was from Christine, and had come in some 45 minutes beforehand. Stephen’s legs twitched with the need to stand up, the message activating some kind of fight or flight response in him. Should he go? Should he go to the hospital and ensure she was receiving adequate care? Would she even want him there?

These and dozens of other thoughts were whirling around his mind. Tony interrupted the circular thought of _I should go, but she won’t want me there, but she doesn’t have to know I’m there? She’ll know you’re there._

“Here,” Tony declared, placing a piece of the requested tart down on the table before the now-standing Stephen. It did look good.

Tony sat down again, with his own tiramisu in front of him and picked up a spoon. When Stephen didn’t sit down, he looked up.

“Emergency at the hospital? If you have to leave, they could probably prepare it in a to-go box… though I don’t think they actually do them here.”

“No,” Stephen found himself saying. “I mean, what? No,” he said again, aware he was making no sense. He sat down, phone still in his hand. “My friend, she’s gone into labor. Slightly early but nothing too concerning.”

“Congratulations to her.”

“I was debating if I should go and ensure the hospital staff are being well behaved.”

“A noble gesture.”

“She probably wouldn’t appreciate it very much.”

“Ah. So that’s the dilemma?”

He didn’t have many friends and it was hard to describe to this near stranger what Christine was to him. She was the person who had made him realize that he could love was perhaps the most apt description.

“I’ve never had a child, but doesn’t the whole birthing thing take _days_ sometimes?”

“Yes,” Stephen agreed.

Tony picked up Stephen’s fork and put it in his hand for him. “Then you probably have time to eat your tart before you go?”

Yes, Stephen agreed to himself, he did, while his fingers tightened around the fork. Not turning up to the hospital straight away was probably the wiser option. It would make him seem more in control, more like he wasn’t going to rip the head off whoever was in charge.

The pastry of his tart was rich and flaky with just the right amount of salt added. He found himself humming in delight ( _it was not a moan!_ ) as his fork went down to take another bite.

“You were right, this is excellent.” Credit should be given where due, and Tony did have excellent tastes in tarts.

There was a metallic clatter as Tony accidentally dropped his spoon on the ground. Stephen looked up to see Tony looking in shock at his own right hand.

“Ow,” Tony hissed, trying and failing to straighten his fingers out. His left hand was massaging his right hand.

Cramp? Stephen wondered.

“Cramp,” Tony sighed.

Not cramp, Stephen deduced moments later as Tony started to cough. First a little, and then a hacking cough, breathing labored, nostrils flared as his body tried to draw in as much air as possible.

“Are you–” struggling to breathe, was what he went to confirm, but Tony was now wheezing and slumped at the table, taking long, hissing breaths, head propped by his arms.

Stephen stood, his little wooden crate falling over behind him as he went.

“Can you breathe?” Stephen asked in an even tone, approaching Tony, assessing, crossing off potential diagnoses at a mile a minute.

Tony looked up at him, eyes wide, jaw too rigid to reply, his focus entirely on attempting to breathe.

The next thing Stephen knew, Tony had fallen off his seat and onto the ground, where on the gray-grime of the alleyway floor, he was having a seizure.

And that was when all hell broke loose. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, sorry, I realised while uploading that the second lot of lip-on-lip action is not this chapter but the next, ahhh. 
> 
> But yikes, Tony, for $70k Stephen isn't even getting a restaurant with cloth napkins?? Heh. I was trying to project a Lady and the Tramp-esque alleyway thing here and I really hope that came through strongly. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the kind encouragement, it is making me so happy! 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange haven Discord too.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen deals with the consequences of his $70,000 date. 
> 
> Tony takes a nap. Kinda. 
> 
> Happy, May and Peter pop by to say hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of last chapter: 
> 
> Stephen and Tony have their beautiful, very sophisticated _cough_ date in an alleyway. 
> 
> But just as they're tucking into dessert and discussing a potential project to work on together, Tony collapses.

The glass bowl containing the remains of Tony’s tiramisu had vanished by the time the police went to investigate the crime scene. Because that was what the alleyway had been declared later on that same day - a crime scene. 

Stephen looked at Stark’s prone body, washed out by the hospital lights and the white bedding. He looked comfortable and at rest, belying the fact he’d come so close to death only mere hours earlier. But he was alive, and his vitals looked good. Stephen stood and just watched for a while longer, muscles still remembering the nearly 15 minutes of CPR he’d performed. 

Once Tony’s seizure had stopped, Stephen had thought that might have been it, was prepared for that being it. Instead, Tony stopped breathing. 

Stephen remembered shouting for help, _begging_ for help. He needed someone to call and speak to the ambulance while he kept Tony’s body going as best as he could. Someone had answered his screams, though it was a blur to Stephen exactly who that person had been. His focus had been where it needed to be: keeping Tony Stark alive.

The cracked rib Tony had from the pounding of the resuscitation would hurt him later, probably, but at least he’d still be around for it to hurt.

“Who the fuck are you?” the stranger who had just entered Tony's hospital room demanded of Stephen. 

Stephen turned with a frown on his face, prepared to verbally beat down the intruder.

“Dr. Stephen Strange.”

The man looked to be in his late-40s to mid-50s, short, slightly curly hair. He had blotches of red skin, suggesting a recent sunburn.

“Aha,” the man said in a very disbelieving tone. “Got any ID on you there? Where’s the security?”

Stephen crossed his arms and tilted his chin up. “Who exactly are _you_?” he said curtly, suddenly wondering why he was letting this man talk to him like that.

His answer came in the form of a woman who also slipped into Stark’s room.

“Happy!” she gasped. “I’ve never seen you run that fast, I swear.” She looked a little out of breath, but as her eyes slid over to Tony on the bed, she drew in a shocked breath. “Oh, oh Tony.” She wandered trance-like over to him.

Happy swallowed and Stephen saw him rub his eyes as he too walked towards Tony.

“Is he going to be okay?” Happy asked, turning to face Stephen.

“I’m not his doctor.”

Happy looked suspicious again, shoulders squaring. “I thought you said you were a doctor? What’s the truth?”

Stephen rolled his eyes. “I am _a_ doctor, not _his_ doctor. It is possible for there to be more than one of us in this damned building being that it is a hospital.”

“May?” Happy asked the woman, who was now staring down at Tony, looking lost in thought.

“Yes?”

“Do you know him?” Happy thumbed in Stephen’s direction.

“Just because I work here, Hap, doesn’t mean I know everyone. It’s a large hospital. But in this case, yes, I’ve seen him before.”

“Someone tried to kill him,” Stephen let them know. He shouldn’t have let them know, he didn’t really know who they were, but since Tony was famously an orphan and wasn’t married, he was rather lacking in the family department.

Both May and Happy froze at this.

“ _Again?_ ” Happy asked, looking pained. “Oh, gawd, Tony...” he looked down, mournful and then started crying.

May led him to the only chair in the room and sat him down.

“I’m his medical proxy,” she told Stephen. “May Parker, I’m a nurse down on pediatrics.”

“Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon.”

“Tony had that charity date thing with you, right? What can you tell us? The call I had just said he’d collapsed and stopped breathing, but that they were working to stabilize him. We were in Honolulu when the call came through. Is it his brain, if you’re consulting now?” she asked in a rush. 

“I’m not consulting,” he answered first. “I was there when he collapsed and...” _and I kept him alive while the ambulance came, I cracked his bones with my hands and kept his body going until everything hurt._ “I just wanted to check in on him. His primary should be here soon to talk through what happened with you.”

Happy looked up, eyes red and expression down-turned. “But you said someone tried to kill him?”

“I didn’t try to kill him,” Stephen said defensively, feeling disgruntled. He’d already been questioned by the police over that. “We were at dinner together when it happened. They found tetrodotoxin when they tested his blood. He was poisoned. Something in his dessert.” 

In another world, where Stephen had given into Tony's recommendation they both have the tiramisu, they could have both been dead right now. Whoever had poisoned Tony must have known he always had the same thing at that restaurant. 

“Tetro what now?” Happy looked to May.

“It’s a neurotoxin,” she explained, looking lost. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain this to Peter.”

Stephen didn’t know or care who Peter was. Now Tony’s chosen family were there, and he could see Tony would make an eventual recovery, he decided it was time to excuse himself.

He had what he’d needed from his interactions with Tony Stark. Even if the man rescinded his offer to speak to the administration about getting Stephen his parking spot back, there was no way Tony was going to be driving himself anywhere for a long time yet. And since that was really all he required, Stephen was washing his hands of Tony Stark and his whole motley crew.

***

“The cops don’t seriously think you had anything to do with him being poisoned, do they?”

Christine was a natural at multitasking. She made asking her friend about being a potential attempted-murder suspect while changing the diaper of a newborn look easy.

“It was hard to tell. But given how much effort I put into keeping him alive after he collapsed, my lawyer seems to think that I’m not truly a person of interest.”

She picked the baby up and held her to her shoulder, looking tired, but serene as she stroked the baby’s downy head and moved over to the cot to put the baby down for a nap.

“Perhaps you poisoned him _to_ save his life.”

“The thought occurred to me as well,” he admitted.

“The thought of poisoning him?”

“No, the thought that it might appear I poisoned him just to save him.”

“You’d have to be some kind of masterful, egotistical jerk to pull something like that off,” she said mockingly. “That just doesn’t sound at all like you, Stephen.”

“I came to say hello to the baby, not to be ridiculed over being a person of interest in an attempted murder.”

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive. Come on, let’s sit down and talk while she’s asleep.” Christine flicked on the baby monitor and led the way out of the nursery to the kitchen.

“You’re going to have to name her eventually, you know. I still say Stephanie is a good name.”

“We have time,” Christine sighed. “Stop pushing it. Tell me, how has work been?”

He noted she was wincing as she walked. It had only been a few days since she’d delivered though, so it was to be expected.

“Fine.”

“Done anything exciting?”

“Saving Tony Stark’s life not enough for you?”

“You save lives all the time,” she pointed out. “Do you want juice?”

He sat down at the kitchen island. “Apple, if I may.”

He found himself drumming his fingers on the work surface. There was something he’d wanted to share with someone, and no one had seemed quite right.

“A strange thing happened yesterday,” Stephen started, taking a sip from the glass Christine had placed before him.

“Oh?”

He hesitated.

“Come on, Stephen! I’m alone with a newborn baby since Chris had some big work emergency that apparently was more important than his paternity leave. The very least I deserve is gossip.”

“I went to check in on Stark yesterday.” He wasn’t going to justify why. To justify would mean to appear as if he was guilty of _something_ , maybe even guilty of _caring_.

He paused, trying to collate his own thoughts, aware that on its own the incident might not sound _weird_. It was hard to express exactly what had made him feel strange about what had happened.

“As I was going in, he had a visitor. An older man. I’ve seen him on the news, he does something with Stark Industries, I suspect. So, Stark was asleep,” as he had been every time Stephen had visited since the incident. But to admit as much really would make him sound like a creep. “The man introduces himself as Tony’s godfather.”

“Go on,” Christine encouraged.

“He asked me ‘Just how close to dead was Tony?’”

“That doesn’t seem that strange, Stephen.”

“I know,” he admitted. He did know. Loved ones wanting to know what the worst could have been so as to make themselves feel reassured about the current situation was something Stephen had faced before. “It was just _something_ about the way he said it. Almost as if he was… disappointed? As if Stark had… I don’t know.” He was losing his mind, losing his grip on reality. There was nothing really that unusual about a relative or a loved one wanting to know.

“I think it’s best if I just stay away from it all,” Stephen concluded, as if he hadn't already told himself this a dozen times before. There was nothing good to be had from getting involved in the game of working out who tried to kill Tony, or getting involved with Tony full stop. He was going to step away and go back to his normal life, where no one tried to poison his dinner companion. 

***

Stephen realized too late that he was listening into the conversation underway inside Tony’s hospital room.

May was back in and visiting. She sounded angry.

“You could have at least _warned_ me that you’d made me your medical proxy!”

“Noted for future,” Tony replied.

For Stephen, who hadn’t heard his voice in days, it was of some small comfort. Tony was awake and up to talking at last then. 

“I don’t want there to be a need for the future! I thought it was Rhodey?”

“It was, until the whole… heart incident. But he can’t always just come home from missions and he was having to make medical decisions over the phone. I realized after that happened: what if he hadn’t been contactable at all? You know Happy would hate having to decide stuff like that, and you work at the hospital, it seemed like a sensible decision.”

May huffed. “Sensible? Sensible like, oh I don’t know, _getting poisoned_?”

Tony snorted. “It wasn’t like I planned it!”

“Happy and I were enjoying our vacation, you know!”

“I–”

“And Peter! God, Tony? Peter was heartbroken. I don’t know if he’s even slept through the night since it happened.”

Stephen heard Tony exhale.

“For better or worse, Tony, we’re co-parenting him, do you understand that?”

“He’s your kid–”

“Damn right he is! But,” she huffed, voice tearing up. “He loves you so much. I don’t think you understand how much. And he looks up to you so much more than I could have ever prepared myself for.

“Peter _needs_ you, Tony. He needs you to be alive and well. We all do.”

“Look,” Tony said after a beat, “if anything ever happened to me, Peter would be taken care of. There’s a fund for his college and it’s more than enough to cover undergrad, post-grad and anything else. And there’s property, and–”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“No!” Tony shouted, sounding defensive. “Like, that’s been set up for years, I wouldn’t joke about that.”

“Oh, Tony,” her voice was wobbling. “He needs _you_ . Listen to me, _you_. Not your money, not all the opportunities your influence can bring. I know I wasn’t supportive at the start, but… when he has his nightmares, the ones he never wants to talk to me about? He has you to talk to them about.”

“Are they talking about me?” a kid whispered from Stephen’s side.

Stephen jumped slightly, feeling guilty for a second.

“Potentially?” he whispered back. “Are you Peter?”

The kid came up to just past Stephen’s shoulders. He had on a worn t-shirt, shaggy brown hair and a frown of worry on his face. He nodded to Stephen’s question.

“They sent me out for a fake coffee run,” Peter answered, holding up two cups. “Which is stupid since Tony shouldn’t be drinking coffee to start with,” he said a little louder, which was unfortunate. 

“PETER?” Tony’s voice called from inside the room. “Peter, I can hear you out there,” he added.

Peter shot Stephen a _well, what are ya gonna do?_ look and walked in, exposing through the now wide-open door that Stephen was standing there as well.

“Hey, I brought coffee!” Peter handed one cup to May and put the other down on Tony’s bedside.

Stephen, not wanting to make it look like he had been hanging around outside, walked in too.

“You shouldn’t be drinking this,” he commented, picking up Tony’s coffee. “Let me help you out.” He took a sip and tried not to show his disgust at how awful the coffee was.

“Hey!” Peter complained.

“The Doc is probably right,” Tony agreed, smirking as he made eye contact with Stephen. “No coffee for me.” 

Oh, he definitely knew how bad the coffee was then.

“Here to check-up on me?”

“Nice to see you awake again,” Stephen replied. “Just a shame the quality of conversation with you will no doubt be all the poorer for it.”

“May, Peter, this is Dr. Stephen Strange. He saved my life the other day. I’m also told it is him I have to thank for the cracked rib.” He rubbed at his chest with a wince.

May looked between them, and then with a nod like she was agreeing to something no one had actually said, she declared, “We should be going, Peter. You have school tomorrow and I have an early shift.”

Peter’s face dropped. “Oh,” he looked at Tony with worry, shuffling forwards a little. “Couldn’t I stay just a bit longer?”

“I should be getting out tomorrow, Pete. If you want, come spend some time after school at the lab? So long as that’s okay with May?”

Tony and Peter both looked pleadingly at May.

“Of course,” she smiled. “Okay, see you soon, Tony,” she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“Bye, May. Bye, Peter,” Tony waved.

Peter took a moment, eyes darting between Tony and the door before he leaned in and hugged Tony lightning fast.

“See you tomorrow, Tony! Bye, Dr. Strange. Wait, is that your real name?”

“ _Peter,_ ” May sighed, tugging him out of the room.

“Well, it’s a weird name. And he looks like–”

Exactly what the child thought he looked like, Stephen couldn’t hear, as the rest of their conversation got lost in the general din of the hospital outside of the room.

Now they were alone, Tony let out a long breath and his face creased with pain.

“Are you really getting out tomorrow?” Stephen questioned, confused as he looked over the notes on Tony. He was still receiving treatment for the effects of the poisoning. His doctor would have to be nuts if they were really letting Tony out tomorrow. 

“No idea, but if I tell myself that every day, I have to be correct at least once, right?”

He had a point, Stephen agreed privately.

“Have they found who did this to you?” Or why, which was the thing bugging him the most. Why kill Tony Stark? Not because there was no conceivable reason, but because there were _so_ many. And Stephen wanted to know which of the many it was.

“Nope, nothing that I’ve heard about, unfortunately.”

“Your vitals are looking much better.” Stephen was trying to be comforting, but it probably came out far more clinical than he hoped.

“Humms. Good.”

Tony seemed distracted and Stephen was sure he did not want to discuss his problems with a near stranger. But if this was going to be the last conversation they had, Stephen had to cure himself some of his curiosity.

“Is he your… son? The child?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, a tired smile.

“So, she’s your wife? Ex-wife? Girlfriend?” He guessed. Did Tony Stark even have an ex-wife? That was probably on Wikipedia. He should have just looked this up like any normal person instead of asking the man in person.

“What? No, not at all. She’s engaged to one of my best friends.”

“But she’s Peter’s mom?”

“No,” Tony said, frowning a little, like Stephen was being purposefully stupid.

Stephen frowned back. “Then consider me completely confused. She’s not his mom, you’re not her ex-husband or his biological father?”

“Correct.”

“But you are raising him together?”

“We live together,” Tony said, as if that explained things instead of making it all way more complicated.

“ _What_?”

“Peter’s parents died about six years ago, I was friends of theirs, so I’ve known Pete most of his life.”

“Okay,” Stephen agreed, lacking any other response.

“And then when they died, May – who is his _aunt_ , took him in. And then, well, her husband, Peter’s uncle, died about three years ago.”

Something in Stephen’s mind echoed forth the name, “Ben?” He’d probably read the name on a hospital memo, especially if she’d been a nurse at the hospital at the time.

“Yeah,” Tony confirmed. “He was, well, shot in front of Peter. He’s such a good kid, and despite everything he’s been through, he’s just, well, incredible. So, I’m not his dad, but… I am, by choice.”

“I see.” Family not by blood, but by choice, by love. By something stronger than blood. “You _live_ together?”

Tony chuckled a little. “Technically, yeah? But haven’t you seen the size of Stark Tower? The living suites at the top are big enough for several families. May started dating Happy, and then a couple months back they got engaged, so May and Peter moved in too. It worked out pretty well, all in all.”

He yawned, suddenly looking every bit as fragile as he had on the ground in that alleyway.

“I should let you rest,” Stephen acknowledged. “Thank you for sating my curiosity.”

“I like talking about my kid,” Tony’s eyes sparkled. “So, anytime.”

Stephen was at the door to the room when Tony called, “You know what, Doc?”

“Yes?” he asked, turning around, one hand on the door handle.

“If you’d just let me die there on the ground you’d definitely have gotten your parking space back.”

Stephen snorted. “And win that easily, Stark? I’m not a cheater. I’m getting it back from you while you’re alive and well, thank you.”

Stephen could hear Tony laughing from behind him as he exited the hospital room, his heart feeling lighter than it had since before the poisoning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a long debate with myself in working on this if the whole It Was Poison reveal comes up end of last chapter or start of this one, or if they should just be the same. I think I'm satisfied with my final choice? Maybe. Hums. Too late now anyway, ha. 
> 
> This is set in Magical Hospital Land too where they can test for poisons and get results back 10 mins later, heh. I acknowledge it is fast, but, MAGIC HOSPITAL. They just got so much money from Tony too, maybe he paid for a magical testing facility? Who knows... 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! A little more insight into how the family set up is in this 'verse. Thanks for reading and I'll see you very soon for the next chapter. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange haven Discord too.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen watches things. 
> 
> Tony gets out of bed. 
> 
> Christine's daughter has a lovely day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So last chapter: Tony was in hospital, Stephen was trying not to visit him every day and not doing a great job at that. 
> 
> Happy, May and Peter's holiday got cut short because of Tony's poisoning. They were all super worried. Tony still kinda doesn't understand why? 
> 
> One line in this chapter is almost shamelessly stolen from House MD, as it just stuck me as being the right thing for that moment.

“Stephen! Stopped to say goodbye?”

Stephen’s eyes hurt slightly as he moved his gaze from where he’d been intently staring at the exit. He blinked and looked down at Christine, Chris and the finally-named baby Anabel. Around them the hospital atrium buzzed with the comings and goings of its occupants.

“Yes,” he lied. “I hope the check-up was uneventful,” he added, remembering quickly what had brought their little family to the hospital that day. 

He’d been standing there for about 30 minutes, an iPad in his hands displaying a journal article he was pretending to read.

Chris jiggled the baby who babbled happily. “She’s doing so well.” They were both beaming, looking tired but so in love with each other and the bundle of tiny human accompanying them.

“I’m glad,” he nodded, eyes slipping back to where he’d been monitoring the room.

Christine followed his look.

“Who are you waiting for?” she asked, voice full of suspicion.

“You, remember?” he replied distractedly, still looking at the doorway he’d been stalking with his eyes.

Christine crossed her arms and studied him.

“Maybe, but also: definitely not. Who are you waiting for?” she repeated.

Stephen turned on her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, look, Tony Stark,” Chris commented. “I didn’t realize he was still here. That took awhile for him to be released. Was it really that bad?”

Stephen turned on his heel to look at the exit from the ward Tony had been kept on. He blinked a few times, watching as Tony was wheeled out by the same man (this time in a navy suit and sunglasses) Stephen had seen visiting Tony a few times now.

“Ah,” Christine smiled. “I see. Wanted to say goodbye? Or just checking it was worth your time saving his life?”

Stephen elbowed her gently as Tony was approaching.

“Hey,” Tony waved with his left while his right held a bunch of flowers. “I’m finally breaking out of this joint,” he grinned.

“Breaking out?” the man (Happy, Stephen’s brain supplied) pushing the wheelchair repeated. “You said they released you? I swear to God, Tony, if you’re–”

“Hap, chill, I’m joking,” he twisted in the chair to speak to the guy. “They’ve released me, all legal and above board, I promise.”

“Humph.”

“And the man that saved my life,” Tony addressed Stephen, still beaming.

He looked good, Stephen assessed. Tired still, but that was probably more the hospital environment. Even in the upscale room Tony had been, noises of the hospital still got through. Not to mention the nurses waking him up all hours of the night to check on him and medicate him.

“Doctor, I don’t know how to thank you,” Happy proclaimed, stepping forward to grab Stephen’s hand for a very enthusiastic handshake.

Stephen’s mind fumbled, always struggling to know how to accept open, genuine gratitude.

“I would have done it for anyone,” was the stupid thing that came out.

The man paused, looked Stephen deep in the eye, and tightened his grip on his hand. “Well maybe, but you did it for my best friend, okay? And I won’t forget that.”

Stephen nodded and tried not to hiss with relief when the handshake was finally over.

“Come on, Hap, the Doc is clearly talking to these nice people. Let’s go home. Sorry for interrupting,” he said, looking between Christine and Chris.

Christine was looking a little confused but waved. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, Stephen, I’m sorry.” Christine looked sad as she spoke, just as soon as Tony and Happy were out of earshot.

His brow furrowed as he tried to understand her sudden change in demeanor.

“For…?

“Because he has a crush on a guy with a boyfriend?” Chris guessed.

“You do have some bad luck sometimes, Stephen.”

“I didn’t know Stark was seeing someone,” said Chris.

“He’s not,” Stephen retorted, feeling oddly irritated. Well, he didn’t think Tony was seeing anyone. Not that it mattered because, “Not that it would matter if he was. I’m not interested in him.”

Anabel had the nerve to start crying.

“I told you she cries when people lie, don’t you, baby?” Christine babbled at her daughter. “Especially uncle Stephen who doesn’t want to admit he has a widdle crush on the fancy billionaire, or at least finds him attractive. And that’s why he’s made such a fuss over the silly parking space.”

Chris rocked her gently to try and calm her. “If it helps, everything I know about Tony Stark suggests his relationships never last anyway. Hang on in there, Stephen, you might still get a turn with him.”

Stephen didn't bother arguing further. To do so would only have enforced their delirious beliefs that he had a crush. He didn’t have a crush, not even a _widdle_ crush. And just to prove how unbothered he was about the parking space, Stephen didn’t even park in it the next week, even though Tony wasn’t visiting the hospital anymore. And he didn’t park there the week after either. But by week three Stephen figured if Tony wasn’t showing up anymore, he might as well make use of the space.

Four weeks after Tony had been released, Stephen was back to taking great pleasure parking in _his_ spot again. Tony Stark be damned, this space was Doctor Stephen Strange’s. So all in all, Stephen couldn’t really understand the joy that bubbled up inside of him when on one Friday morning, a month and a half after the poisoning incident, he arrived at work to discover Tony Stark was parked in the space.

What a dick, Stephen thought, driving into Shirley’s allotted space instead. He’d been aware for quite some time which one was hers and just hadn’t had a good enough reason to use it yet.

He had three back-to-back surgeries that took up much of his morning. By the late afternoon Stephen was more than ready to tuck into a well-deserved lunch. There was just one thing missing he decided as he looked at the beautiful prepared sandwich in front of him: he lacked any candy. His body acted before his brain could really process what it was doing, and soon enough he was standing by the candy vending machine that just so happened to be by the children’s wing Tony Stark was frequenting that day.

Stephen slowed down as he walked by the doors of the wing's common area and could hear the peels of laughter from happy children. He was so focused on listening to the noises, trying to see if he could hear Tony, that he nearly got knocked over as the door swung open. Out walked someone Stephen eyed up and decided was a parent. He moved as swiftly as possible out of the way of the door and watched as she walked over to the drinks vending machine. A few steps later, he stood next to her at a neighboring machine trying to play it cool.

“The kids seem to be having fun,” Stephen said casually.

“Huh?” the woman answered.

“In the ward. I guess Tony Stark is back again?”

She was looking at him like she was about to complain about a strange man talking about the children.

“I’m one of the neurosurgeons here,” that made her look a little calmer. “It was such a shame what happened to Tony Stark. Just nice to see that he’s back again. All the kids seem to love him.” Stephen aimed for as casual as possible as he selected way too many candies from the machine.

“Yes,” the woman agreed, finally. “My daughter even got out of bed for the first time all week today.”

Her eyes looked a little watery and Stephen hoped she wouldn’t start crying. Maybe this had been a bad idea, maybe he could have just looked at the security footage to see what was happening in there.

“She’s in the robot club?”

“She tries,” the woman sniffed, eyes looking a little glazed over. “The program they have here is incredible. We’re very blessed, very blessed indeed. She was so sad when he stopped coming, but I explained he was ill. Did you know they made him a massive painting of that robot he brings with him sometimes?”

“I wasn’t aware, no.”

“It is all just so sweet, very sweet, he gives those children hope.” She gave Stephen a last watery smile and went back to the ward’s common area with her new bottle of water.

Stephen bent down to pick up the rest of his new haul from the slot in the machine, wincing at how much he’d stupidly bought.

“Bit of a sweet tooth, Doc?”

Stephen straightened right back up again.

He wasn’t going to show Tony how shocked he was. Slowly turning, treats in arms, Stephen puzzled how the hell Tony Stark had managed to sneak up on him like that.

“I’ve had multiple surgeries this morning and need a bit of a pick-me-up before this afternoon’s commence,” he breathed out, proud that he’d managed to answer in such a steady voice.

Tony smiled at him, and Stephen nearly found himself smiling back. Their eyes locked a moment and Stephen found himself looking for what else to say.

“Finished pretending you were too ill to come in?”

“Ha,” Tony laughed. “If it was up to Happy and May, I’d still be on bed rest.”

“You nearly died.”

Tony rolled his eyes and started punching numbers into the vending machine.

“Nearly dying isn’t so bad. If I had actually died maybe I’d see the issue at hand.” He bent down to pick up the candy.

Stephen couldn’t help it as his eyes observed the way Tony was clearly very uncomfortable in the movement. Still dealing with the effects of his body trying to shut down on him not so long ago.

“You want this?” Tony offered up the packet of M&Ms he’d just bought. “Not feeling as hungry as I thought.”

Stephen frowned, taking in the weight loss that was apparent now.

“You aren’t eating.”

“I eat,” Tony shrugged, placing the packet on top of those in Stephen’s arms.

“Prove it,” Stephen dared.

“Okay, you got me. It hurts, so I’m mostly on a liquid diet still.”

Stephen took half a step closer. “As a medical professional, Tony, I can tell you that is not ideal. Have you mentioned it to your general practitioner?”

Tony ran a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, and they said it was all in my head. The pain, that is. The tests show that far as they’re concerned, it shouldn’t hurt to eat, yet here we are.” His eyes were alight with fight and Stephen wanted to reach out and touch him on the shoulder. Provide an anchor to the storm Tony was clearly struggling through.

“They may have missed something. Nerve damage caused by the toxin, or even something from the treatment.” Stephen’s mind was rushing through the possibilities.

“Maybe,” Tony said with a grimace that suggested he doubted this.

Stephen thought through the possible scenarios. The doctors he could recommend or browbeat into checking Tony over again.

“Is robot club finished?”

“We’re just winding up. There’s a short prize ceremony for innovation of the day. Today’s theme was fish.” Tony looked at Stephen with a frown. “I am fine, you know? You don’t have to–”

“When you’re done, come to my office.” For what, Stephen wasn’t sure. Just to spend time together? To see if there was something the hospital had missed that was making it difficult for Tony to eat? So Stephen could quiz Tony over his facial hair? 

“Doctor’s orders?” Tony quipped.

“Yes,” Stephen nodded. “If there’s something wrong, Tony, we’ll work it out – together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chris knows Not What He Talks Of. He's judging Tony on his reputation, and the reports of that reputation are a little exaggerated. 
> 
> And for everyone who thought Stephen was going to have to diagnose Tony's mystery ailment, well, ta-da? 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [coconutice22](http://www.coconutice22.tumblr.com/) and I'm around on the IronStrange haven Discord too.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen tries to eat his lunch. 
> 
> Condoms don't work remotely. 
> 
> Tony sits on a chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read! 
> 
> There is some talk in this chapter of food-based anxiety for Tony as a result of his brush with poison. It is contained to this chapter only and doesn’t turn into anything further. 
> 
> I've put a summary of the chapter minus the mentions of food-anxiety in a private post on tumblr which should be viewable through this shared [link here](https://coconutice22.tumblr.com/private/616752549099388928/tumblr_xoMT9kUcyHjKhnWJ3) in case you want to read a summary of the chapter without reading this content. 
> 
> This chapter starts just moments after the last. Stephen's told Tony to come to his office when he's done with robot club for the day...

Stephen watched with pure, medically-minded curiosity as Tony drank a few sips from the flask he had produced from the inside of his jacket. It was clearly a re-purposed hip-flask that probably used to contain expensive Scotch, or whatever Tony’s poison was back in the day. He watched with great interest as Tony’s throat moved and his lips, his perfectly pinkish lips, sipped more of the liquid. Watching for purely medical-related reasons, naturally.

He shook his head to rid himself of the passing wonder of how soft Tony’s lips would probably be.

“You never text me back, you know,” Tony started with.

“I…”

“Little double green tick on my last message to you, and then nothing.”

Stephen was taken aback. He hadn’t realized Tony would welcome more messages from him. He didn’t really know what was going on between them. Their talks when Stephen went to visit Tony in his hospital room while he was still in recovery notwithstanding, it was hard to know where things were.

Before the poisoning incident, when they were still in the planning phase of their dinner, they had indeed been texting with increasing frequency, with enough casualness Stephen knew Tony liked to use a lot of animal gifs in his replies. None of it was ever very serious talk, but enough that Stephen knew Italian was Tony’s favorite food because of fond childhood memories he had of visits to Italy. They’d exchanged some of their favorite places to eat in the city, and reasons why they had to avoid certain ones. It had been… nice. Very casual, but also oddly fascinating. Stephen could have text Tony when he got out of the hospital to ask how he was doing, but something in him had locked up at the thought. Felt it was just too intimate. So he’d left it.

“You should be back on solid foods,” Stephen pushed on, trying to draw the conversation back to grounds he could fight on. He’d sort through the emotions later of Tony accusing him of not replying, versus the fact it wasn’t like Tony had messaged either. “And not relying on meal replacement shakes for all your nutrients,” Stephen said, repeating himself from earlier, as if that was magically going to fix all of Tony’s issues.

Stephen’s eyes landed on his uneaten sandwich he had pushed aside in favor of all the candy he’d consumed while waiting for Tony to arrive.

“I’m a busy person, and these things?” Tony shook the container he’d been drinking out of, “A massive times saver. I should be thanking whoever poisoned me for introducing me to them,” Tony winked, closing the lid and slipping the flask back into his jacket pocket. He stretched out on what was actually Stephen’s favorite chair and looked around the office.

Stephen narrowed his gaze. “If you have enough free time to keep up the maintenance of that ridiculous facial hair, you have enough time to eat.”

“You’re one to talk. Yours probably takes twice as long to perfect.”

Stephen rubbed at his chin. “That’s exactly why I know how much time it takes to keep it looking good.”

“Touché.”

“You should rest more and aim to gradually reintroduce soft foods to your diet at first if you’re having problems.”

Tony nodded, exhaustion now wrapping his whole body. “Yeah, so I keep being told,” he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have some favors I can call in to see if there’s anything that could be done about the physical discomfort. It is possible that the breathing tubes damaged some nerves. We could perform a tracer test to work out exactly where the discomfort is coming from when you swallow.”

Tony was clenching and relaxing his hands in a fairly regular motion.

“I’m not having problems swallowing, or chewing, or, or anything.” Tony looked increasingly defeated. “Well, I am, but I’m not? It’s just when the food gets to my mouth, I just, I just,” he sighed, hunched over and pinched the bridge of his nose. His shoulders were curled over and he looked to all the world like a man defeated. “I keep remembering the coffee and cream on the tip of my tongue from that damned tiramisu. And then the next thing I know, my throat feels like it is going to close up.”

“Ah.” So, it was psychology. “You did nearly die, Tony. Trauma from this kind of incident is not uncommon.” It was human, it was understandable. The mind was a powerful thing, and if Tony’s subconscious was still remembering the trauma, his body would struggle to consume food as he used to.

“I can’t afford to be _traumatized,_ ” Tony growled. “Do you know what my board of directors would do if they knew I was seeing a shrink over the fact my brain is too broken to _eat_? That I’m terrified of it happening again?”

“I’m not qualified to deal with this,” Stephen decided to just go with blunt. “But even I can tell you need some professional help.”

Tony let out a slow, shuddering breath and stood suddenly. It struck Stephen that if Tony was a cat, this would be the point his fur would all be up on end. “Well, thank you, Doctor,” he spat. “You can send the bill to this consultation to–”

“Sit back down,” Stephen snapped, standing up so he could look Tony in the eye. “This moment,” he added, with a slight hiss.

Tony dropped back into the seat, slouching.

“Look, I know my mind is fucked up, but I’m coping, okay? The meal-replacement shakes are enough for now, and I’ll work on the rest. You don’t need to tattle on me to anyone.”

Stephen slowly dropped back into his chair, his eyes briefly going to the sandwich. He wished he could just eat it in peace instead of dealing with whatever maelstrom of emotions was going on here.

“I feel guilty,” Stephen admitted, before he’d made any conscious decision to say such a thing. “You were only at the restaurant because I won the auction. It was easily signposted that you’d be out somewhere, at some point. I feel guilty, and I need to help you with this so I can stop beating myself up for it.”

That was it there. The real reason he hadn’t replied to Tony’s message. He hadn’t known how to express that sentiment. Hadn’t known how to relay the complex guilty-but-not-guilty feeling he had. Logically, he knew none of this fault, but illogically? He felt guilty.

Tony looked up at him, shock written all over his face. “Oh.” He frowned and shook his head side-to-side. “That’s dumb. Very, very dumb. If it wasn’t you who won that auction, it would have been someone else, and potentially not someone who was a doctor and who could be on hand quickly enough to help me. I was the idiot for putting myself up for auction like that, sure, but you aren’t at fault here.”

“I’m aware,” Stephen ground out. “But much like your brain telling you the food might be poisoned, mine is telling me I’m at least 30% of the cause for all of this.”

“You’re a dumby, dumb, dumb,” Tony quipped, sounding much more like his old self.

Stephen snorted and rolled his eyes. “And that makes you what, exactly?”

“A Smarty McSmarterson, naturally.”

They were smiling at each other, eyes locked, and Stephen’s stomach did an irritating flutter, which he would worried belied some emotion he didn’t feel when–

“You should have your lunch if your stomach’s going to grumble like that. At least I’m not starving myself,” Tony said with a smirk.

Stephen grabbed the sandwich and unrolled it from the paper. It looked perfect. His perfect pastrami sandwich, on New York’s best bread, cut neatly into two. He couldn’t help but moan as he bit into the first half he’d picked up, as the flavors mingled perfectly on his tongue.

“Do you and the sub need some time alone? I can go,” Tony thumbed in the direction of the door.

Stephen rolled his eyes again and finished his mouthful.

“Ha. Ha,” he replied dryly, before taking another bite. It was so damn good though that he didn’t mind the teasing. As he went in for a third bite, a thought made him pause.

Stephen pushed the other half of the sandwich over the desk closer to Tony. “Try it, then you’ll understand. Best sandwich in the whole city.”

Tony froze, eyes flicking between the sandwich and Stephen. “Can’t. Already ate.”

Stephen nodded, playing it as casual as he could and took another bite of the sandwich. “I can do brain surgery and still can’t work out how they can make a sandwich taste this good. This truly takes skill.”

Tony swallowed, his hand shaking a little as he lifted it up and prodded the sandwich.

“How about we give it five minutes and if I still haven’t died, we both agree this sandwich isn’t poisoned?” Stephen suggested.

There was a burning desire in Tony’s eyes, a set to his shoulders and jaw that suggested he was desperate to pick up the food and devour, but also a huge amount of fear and reluctance.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony wiped his mouth on the back of one hand and nodded. “That was a pretty good sandwich, but not the best.”

“You haven’t had better,” Stephen stated. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible, you’ve just got bad tastes I’m afraid.”

“I should not have wasted the best sandwich in New York on you. Totally wasted.”

“Thanks,” Tony said, suddenly very somber. “That was… thanks,” he smiled again and Stephen wanted to… well, he didn’t know. Comfort the man somehow?

“It was just a sandwich,” Stephen said, playing it off.

“I thought it was the best sandwich?”

“It is. And, you’re welcome. Maybe you should take lessons from the royalty of years gone by and hire a taster.” Stephen only half meant it as a joke. Someone very calculated was out to get Tony, taking every precaution possible was not the craziest idea ever.

Tony laughed. “I’ve been playing with the idea of a bot that could test these things. Might have applications for water purification, potentially. If I could analyze everything before I ate it, I think my subconscious might start to get with the program again. Problem with hiring someone is the worry over whether they’ve been bought or not.” He sized Stephen up, “And I bet you’re too busy for the role?”

“Much,” Stephen let himself smile.

“Shame, we always seem to manage to have a good time together.”

Stephen’s brain raced to find an appropriate response. While his hind-brain was daring him to make an equally flirty comment back, the rest of his mind was at war as to if it was even flirty, and if it was, did it mean anything? Or was this just how Tony spoke with people and–

While most of his mind was busy on this issue, his subconscious noticed Tony rubbing at his chest.

“Do your ribs hurt?”

Tony looked up, wincing a little. “Yeah, a bit.”

“That’s normal for a cracked rib. I’d apologize for that, but it was necessary to save your life. You may need an X-ray to check everything is healing correctly, if they haven’t given you one already.”

Tony nodded. “I was informed,” he smiled. “Did I ever thank you for doing that? I’ve been told it is very physically taxing.”

“I exercise well.” His knees had hurt the next day from kneeling besides Tony on that grim, disgusting alleyway floor. His fingers and back had also ached loudly. But at the time he was giving Tony the CPR his adrenaline spike had ensured none of this had even registered with him. All he could think about was keeping Tony alive, that had been the only thing that mattered.

“I don’t think I’d have been as lucky had any of the others won that bid that night, or basically anyone else in my life. You gave me a, I don’t know at this point, _third_ try at life? Maybe third? Fourth?”

“Had that many assassination attempts made against you?” he quipped back, tone light despite the fact that Tony Stark could so easily make comments about having had multiple attempts made on his life.

“Something like that.” Tony leaned back against the chair, looking almost at peace once again. “Talking of our ill-fated dinner, do you remember I mentioned the neuro stuff I needed a consult on? Even though I’m a walking danger magnet, would you still be interested?”

They had talked about it in loser terms while Tony was in the hospital, but Stephen wasn’t sure if Tony was serious. It flashed through Stephen’s mind to say no. To tell Tony he was too busy, it was impossible that he could take on any more in his schedule. He had tickets to the theater and surgeries to do, and drinking, maybe-probably washing his hair at some point, among many other very valid, and excellent reasons to stay the hell away from Tony Stark. Which was exactly why he told him:

“It would be an interesting challenge, I suppose.”

“What would you be after in return? Normally there’s a set fee for consultants I work with, very generous.”

“Boring.” Stephen didn’t need the money, and even though he knew he would be free to set his price in this instance, there was more than just money on the table potentially.

“Then what?”

“A favor, I don’t know what, or when, but my fee is a favor to be determined at some future point. Which you will, to your best abilities, complete.”

Tony studied him. “Saying yes to that goes against almost every business principle I’ve ever learned, but sure, why not? You saved my life, shared your sandwich, why not?”

Tony stood up and offered his hand to Stephen across the desk.

“You got yourself a favor, Doctor.”

Stephen grasped Tony’s right hand in his own. “And you have yourself a specialist.”

***

He was in purgatory again. Purgatory otherwise known as the hospital’s free clinic.

“So my boyfriend said he didn’t have any condoms on him, but he had some at home in his other jeans.”

Stephen yawned and looked at the clock again.

“You’re pregnant,” he told the woman, hoping to wrap this all up as soon as possible.

“What?! I just told you–”

“Nausea, tiredness, breast tenderness and vomiting? You’re pregnant. Condoms don’t work at a distance, I’m afraid. I’ll order a test to confirm.”

The woman looked at him aghast. “But we only do anal!” she shouted finally, loud enough there were probably people in the waiting room that could hear her.

“Well goody for you, but still pregnant. You should be tested for STDs while we’re at it, if you’ve not been using protection. Sperm can travel around, it is tricksy like that. Fingers or just something falling where it shouldn’t, you can never be too safe.”

The woman was still spluttering as she picked up her handbag and stormed out of the consultation room.

At least that was one way to get rid of the patients.

He laced his fingers together and stretched his arms above his head, trying to get out the stiff knots from his shoulders and back caused by having to sit for hours and listen to the pits of society. Well, that was a little unfair, Stephen knew that. He did have some sympathy for those who were so terrified of the medical bills they only came to the free clinic as a last result. Simple issues that could otherwise have been dealt with in an easy manner quickly became complicated when left long enough.

He sighed and decided he should go find his next patient to examine. Or he could just sit in the room and wait out his time… so long as he was signed into the clinic, Shirley didn’t have to know he wasn’t actually seeing patients, did she?

As if she’d been summoned, Shirley walked through the door into the examination room and stood, glaring down at Stephen with her brow furrowed.

“A patient just put a complaint in about you.”

“It isn’t my fault she got pregnant doing anal and thought condoms worked from a distance,” he shot back. At least if he was arguing with Shirley, he wouldn’t have to see any more patients.

Shirley did a double take at that. “She what? She said you were rude and abusive.”

“I told her she was pregnant, she didn’t take it well.”

“No, whoever that was, not the same patient. That patient hasn’t complained – _yet._ This one brought her child in for an ear infection.”

Ah, that did ring a bell from a few days before.

“The anti-vaccination case.”

Shirley put her left hand up to her eyes, as all the pieces finally came together for her. “Ah. You understand the hospital’s official policy on allowing people to practice freedom of expression, I suppose?”

“She went on about how vaccinations caused autism and baldness later in life.”

She winced and sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll smooth this one over.”

“Give her some pamphlets on–”

There was a knock at the door, causing Shirley and Stephen to look over. Tony Stark appeared through a crack in the door.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything, they told me you weren’t with a patient.”

He was looking good, Stephen thought to himself. Ever since that day in his office where they’d shared the sandwich, Tony seemed to have regained some of his confidence when it came to eating. It probably helped that there’d been quite a few shared sandwiches since then too.

“Mr. Stark!” Shirley was flustered. “Can I help you with anything?” Her eyes darted nervously between Stephen and Tony.

“I just wanted to pick Stephen’s brain for a moment. The scheduling board said you finished at 5pm so I thought this was my best opportunity to grab you before something way more important came up.”

“What?” Stephen turned his head to look at the clock on the wall. “It’s only 4, I’m due to be here another hour yet I’m afraid.”

Shirley rolled her eyes. “I put the clock forwards an hour in the hope of actually making you do your clinic hours, Dr. Strange.”

“If I wasn’t so impressed with your ingenuity, I’d be annoyed right now.”

When he’d turned up an hour late, he hadn’t really thought anything of it, but the clock being wrong did make sense, now that he thought about it.

“What did you need my help on, Tony?”

Stephen calling him Tony caused Shirley’s eyebrows to shoot up. She looked to Stephen like she’d love nothing more than to ask what the hell was going on between the two of them.

“We’re having a small glitch. The trial patient’s top lip is hurting when he feels rough surfaces through the prosthetic, which doesn’t make any sense. I’ve tried to fix it but I’m stuck. I can’t figure out how the upper lip hurts at an input to that area.”

Stephen’s brain was lighting up all on its own, running through possibilities, testing and discarding potential fixes in less than the blink of an eye.

“I think we’d need to run a few tests. It may just be a mix-up of signals caused by the original loss of limb. The brain often re-wires itself after the initial incident, and not always in a useful fashion. It might just be a case of reconditioning being necessary, a mirror box might be helpful.”

Stephen’s brain also at that point came up with another solution. A solution that wasn’t strictly to do with the case at hand, but would make him feel… content, yes, content.

“How about we discuss it over dinner, Tony?” he suggested lightly, as if he wouldn’t care either way. If he didn’t care though, why did his palms suddenly feel oddly sweaty? “To discuss potential tests and a few ways forward.”

Shirley breathed in sharply through her nose at this, shooting daggers at Stephen with her eyes while she silently pleaded with him not to do this.

“Sounds great,” Tony accepted with a grin. “Just no pizza, or alleyways, okay?”

“You have my word,” Stephen promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And again the[link here](https://coconutice22.tumblr.com/private/616752549099388928/tumblr_xoMT9kUcyHjKhnWJ3) if you'd rather read a summary of this chapter without the food-based anxiety mentions.
> 
> One of the longer chapters to date! But heh, so did Stephen just ask Tony out on a dinner date or...? 
> 
> A big thanks to my doctor friend who shall never read this, but who is also so good - and at this point more than used to - random questions at random times of the day when I need medical content. I run most things past her to see if they're hopefully possible, and usually modify a little depending on the requirements of the plot Vs reality. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen cooks. Tony eats. 
> 
> Maybe in the same room? 
> 
> Stephen wears a very tight shirt. 
> 
> Obadiah Stane is a dirtbag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, Stephen helped Tony with some anxiety he's been experiencing since his brush with death. He finished up by, GASP, asking Tony for dinner. 
> 
> But ya know, just to discuss the project, of course. 
> 
> Wait, what? 
> 
> This fic is nearly a month old now, yay!

There was no point in mentioning to Christine that Tony had come over and they’d eaten dinner together, cooked by Stephen, at Stephen’s apartment. No point because she was super busy with the baby, and anyway, there was nothing to mention. Nope. Nothing at all. No need for her to know that Tony was somewhat of a wuss when it came to how spicy he liked his food, or that in place of bringing the traditional bottle of wine to the meal, he had instead bought Stephen a vase Stephen was sure cost more than some of the watches he owned.

No need for her to know the food had gone cold after about half the meal had been eaten, when Tony and Stephen had a mutual epiphany on the artificial touch system. That they had poured the rest of the night into mapping a schematic to improve the current prototype Tony had been working on.

None of which explained why Stephen was nervous about Christine being back from maternity leave in a little over four months now. The clock was quickly ticking down. As soon as she was back, she would be bound to notice how much time Stephen and Tony had been spending with each other, both during breaks at the hospital and after hours as well.

Tony was sincere, that was what struck Stephen so hard the more he got to know the other man. Smart and funny went without saying, but he had such a strong drive to just _help_ Stephen couldn’t help but admire him. Admire him as well as some _other_ emotions he was still strongly fighting putting names to.

Sometimes without even meaning to, his brain would replay that first dinner they’d had at Stephen’s apartment. The dinner where Stephen foolishly had tried to demonstrate how nerves were difficult to map by running his right thumb lightly against Tony’s upper lip and asking, “Do you feel that anywhere else other than your lip?”

Tony had gone still a second before nodding. “Yup,” he’d told Stephen, voice a little scratchy. “I get your point. Nerves are complicated.”

Stephen’s thumb tingled from where he’d touched Tony. Yes, nerves were indeed complicated.

So really, what was the point of telling Christine any of this? She’d eventually find out he was working with Tony on the prostheses, if she didn’t already know. But she didn’t need to know about the dinners, or the fact he stroked Tony’s lip, or that he’d been having weird dreams about _hugging_ (urgh) the other man sometimes. Or that his day seemed to be noticeably better whenever he spent time with Tony. It was just the intellectual thrill he was getting from spending time with someone who was almost as knowledgeable as himself. The delight in being pushed to think of things no one had ever thought of before. Who wouldn’t get pleasure out of that?

Sooner rather than later Christine would be back in the hospital and Stephen’s life would return to pre-Stark mode. Having lunches with Christine every now and then and spending his evenings with different, interesting bedfellows. Whatever was going on between him and Tony was a time-limited event, that much Stephen was sure. Not just because of Christine coming back, but because after all their time put into it, their work on the prostheses was nearly at an end. There was even going to be a big publicity launch event at the end of the month to celebrate the first few people getting fitted with the feedback-sensitive artificial limbs. And after that, everything was bound to go back to normal. It just had to. Nothing this nice, nothing this comforting, ever lasted forever, and it was about time Stephen came to accept this before he ended up falling on his ass when he never saw Tony Stark again.

***

There were definitely some massive perks to seeing so much of Tony and having access to parts of his calendar – something they’d set up to make it easier for them to schedule their own meetings together to discuss the project. It meant that Stephen knew exactly which days Tony wouldn’t be at the hospital at all, and could therefore steal his parking space back again. It also meant he knew which days Tony would be in the hospital, which was something useful if he was having a petty day.

“You stole my space,” Tony declared, walking into Stephen’s office and sitting down on the chair that he’d long since claimed as his own.

“I know,” Stephen retorted without remorse, refusing to look up from his tablet and the journal article he’d been reading. “I had an early surgery and decided I deserved it more.”

“Wow, just wow.”

Stephen highlighted something in the article, a point to look into further later.

“I got there to park and thought, oh boy oh boy, I’ve already parked? I’m amazing. But low and behold, I was in the car, and not parked. Because someone, with the same – very exclusive – car as me, had already parked there.”

Stephen was smirking a little on the inside, and potentially on the outside too. He lifted the tablet up a little more to try and conceal his glee while Tony rambled on about how inferior other parking spaces were at the hospital and the reasons he had worked hard to deserve that one. At some point during the rant, Stephen pushed over the second half of the sandwich he’d already eaten his fill of. Tony picked it up and began happily munching.

“So anyway, that’s why we should just go to this launch event together. We’re basically co-creators on this thing, it is our little bionic baby.”

Stephen paused, and finally looked up at Tony properly.

“Huh?”

Tony frowned. “Weren’t you listening? Where did I lose you?”

“No?”

“No you don’t want to go to the launch together?”

“What launch?” Stephen couldn’t remember any mention of _him_ attending a launch at any point. Tony couldn’t possibly mean _that_ launch?

“The launch event for the new Stark tech prosthetic? That we’ve been working on? That has sense-touch feedback? It’s really more of a promotional thing to market and try to raise additional capital. I have most of it covered now, including a site in Chicago for manufacturing this thing. Now’s the time to start announcing it. We’ll have a few of the prototypes there as well.”

Stephen wanted to ask why funding had to be raised when Tony was already loaded. He knew it wasn’t as simple as that though, even the most wealthy sometimes were liquid cash poor, with everything tied up in assets.

“So...” Tony drew a breath. “Did you want to, you know, go to the event together?”

Stepen was slightly surprised. Yes, and no, and also yes, but he shouldn’t, but he could, but did he want to? But, but–

“Sure, why not. We can save the planet one car-share at a time.”

“It’s a date,” Tony beamed.

***

The resounding issue of Christine not being wholly aware of what was happening between Stephen and Tony was that she wasn’t on hand to help him pick out a suitable tux for the event. Eventually he headed out to his normal tailor the night before the gala and paid an eye-watering amount for a rush on something brand new.

It was worth the cost when he opened his door to see Tony exquisitely attired in a Tom Ford number, if Stephen had to guess.

“Looking good,” Tony grinned, eyeing Stephen up and down.

“I’m ready to go,” Stephen said for lack of a suitable reply about how good Tony looked. He felt a little awkward, almost like this was a prom and he should be presenting Tony with a corsage, and that by not having one to hand he had ignored an important social convention.

They walked down to the building’s parking garage and Stephen started walking towards his own car.

“This way,” Stark called over to him. “Wrong Lamborghini, there, Doc.”

“It is fitting how they made so few of these cars and yet we both own one, in the same color too.”

“Guess it just means we have good tastes, doesn’t it?” Tony quipped, positioning himself in the driving seat. “I’m starting to feel like we both share the same tastes for a lot of things.”

Silently, Stephen agreed with Tony. They did seem to share a lot of the same tastes in many things. Good tastes too. Stephen wondered just how far those same tastes extended.

It felt odd to Stephen to be sat in the passenger side of a car that was so familiar to him. Except of course, Tony’s had a few more gadgets on the dash than his own did.

“JARVIS, can you take over from here?” Tony spoke into the air.

“What?” Stephen asked, shooting Tony a confused look. “Who?”

“Certainly, Sir. In current driving conditions we should be at the hotel in 36 minutes. If you’d taken the helicopter, as I’d suggested, it would have been five minutes.”

“Thank you, JARVIS. And yes, I know that would have been faster, but sometimes it is good to take things a little slower,” Tony replied, unconcerned as the car’s engine started and they moved off without Tony touching a single control.

“Show off,” Stephen scoffed, making Tony laugh.

***

Stephen had spent most of the car ride trying not to ask about the JARVIS system controlling the car, not wanting to hint at how impressed he was at the way the car could drive itself so smoothly. While Stephen had tried a few self-driving cars, their systems were nothing compared to whatever had been fitted in Tony’s car. Tony even argued with JARVIS a few times about the route they were taking, and the car had the ability to argue back.

Something about entering the hotel’s large ballroom made a switch in Stephen’s brain click and he was able to put on that polite, practical mask that he’d spent years building for events just like this. It was useful as Tony was taking him around the room, introducing him to people as the “brilliant mind” that had solved the biological issues Tony had been struggling with on the project for so long.

It was a whirlwind to accompany Tony Stark to something like this. Everyone knew him, and he seemingly knew them, or was at least very good at bluffing his way through. It was also endearing how many people had turned up to support their work.

Despite his better judgment, Stephen found himself surprisingly enjoying himself. Tony was one of the most competent people at dealing with large crowds that Stephen had ever met. And even if his smile was a little too consistent to be something genuine, he appeared fairly relaxed.

“Got time for everyone but me, my boy?”

“Obie!” Tony turned and shook hands with an older, bald man. His face was vaguely familiar to Stephen. It took a moment to place as one of Tony’s visitors from when he was in hospital for the poisoning.

“Great turn out, Tony, I’m really proud of you.”

Tony’s blossoming smile at this did look genuine.

“Just wondered if I could borrow you for a moment? To go through your speech and a few other technical details.”

“I have it all sorted and memorized,” Tony said, tapping his head. “Nothing more to do then get up on the stage and present.”

The look on Obie’s face darkened. “I strongly disagree, Tony. Please don’t be so petulant. Come and discuss this with me.”

Tony let go of his mask a second, allowing his confusion and upset to shine through.

“I… see. Fine, let’s talk over there. If you’ll excuse me?” Tony said to the assembled group, walking off with his godfather.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” a woman said almost into Stephen’s ear. Stephen had set himself up by a wall, trying to discreetly work out what was being said.

“No clue, buzz off,” he snapped back.

“Do you even remember who I am?” she said again.

Stephen spared her a look. “That journalist, right? Christobel or something.”

“Christine Everheart. And I think you know exactly what they’re talking about, because it’s the same thing Tony told me about a few weeks ago.”

Stephen had a feeling she was just fishing so he stayed quiet.

“He’s shutting down the Stark Industries weapons department. Did you know tonight was meant to be his big announcement? I have the article all ready to go live just as he starts talking.”

Stephen turned to face her and scrutinized her closely. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think Obadiah Stane is bad news. I’ve been looking into the company for years now, and nearly everything bad leads back to him, and I need an insider to confirm. You and Stark seem pretty close these days.”

“Tony trusts him with his life,” Stephen replied. Stane had come up a few times during their time together, normally as the person calling Tony away to other things. Tony might have been head of the company and majority shareholder, but it was clear that Stane had the biggest hand in the day-to-day running of things that Tony just didn’t have an interest in dealing with. The more time Tony spent on side-projects like Robot Club at the hospital, the more Stane had full and complete control of the business.

“Look, I wanted to hate Stark for a long time, but,” she sighed deeply. “He has the potential to be the force for good in this world. If Stane has his way, Tony might never make the announcement.”

“Then that’s his choice.”

“You’re okay dating someone who makes weapons of mass destruction for a living?”

The words struck Stephen heavily. “That’s not who he is, just what he does. He’s saving lives in his own way. And besides, we’re not dating, I’m just here because...” Stephen trailed off, distracted by what was happening on the other side of the room. Obadiah had crowded in closer to Tony. Stephen found himself walking in long strides towards them before he could even stop to think why that was the worst idea ever.

“Tony,” he interrupted. Stane stepped back a little.

“Yes?” Tony answered, eyes still on his godfather.

“We haven’t danced yet,” Stephen replied, mind racing for something better and failing to find it.

Stane was quiet as he looked between the two of them. There was thunder in his eyes though.

“You should dance together, Tony. It would be awful for you and your _date_ not to be seen dancing.”

“Okay...” Tony trailed off. “Then, let’s dance.”

“But remember what I said,” Stane told him in a low, dangerous tone as soon as Tony had his back to him. “If you make the announcement tonight, it will just seem like this whole thing was just to make you look and feel better.”

Tony shut his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath. “I understand, Obie, I do. Not tonight, then. We’ll postpone.”

“Good,” Stane hissed.

***

They danced and both managed to try and lead for a while, before they found their footing. Stephen could tell Tony was upset about what had gone down with his godfather, but was keen to brush it off as nothing meaningful.

Just before the dinner was served, Tony got up on stage and gave an overview of the whole project.

“He’s going to call your name in a moment,” Obadiah said, leaning over Tony’s empty space at the table they were sat on together to talk to Stephen.

“He hasn’t mentioned it.”

“Well, he is.”

The audience laughed at something Tony had just said, Obadiah joined in too, politely clapping, even though he couldn’t have heard Tony’s words anymore than Stephen had.

“I’ve never minded Tony bringing men or women to an event.”

“Goody for you,” Stephen whispered back acidly, trying his best to focus on Tony’s words instead.

“But if you mess with him, well, what can I say? He listens to me more than anyone else in his life. I say the word and you’re gone.”

Stephen tried to steady his breathing. He wasn’t going to let this man know the anger he was feeling inside at someone trying to meddle, especially someone who just seemed so slimy.

“Noted,” he bit out eventually, not wanting to cause a scene in the middle of Tony’s speech.

At that moment, everyone turned to look at Stephen, who stood up and took a little bow, trying to act embarrassed as he sat back down at the table.

No announcement was made that evening about the weapons manufacturing being shut down, something Christine was very pissed off at Tony for.

The weird conversation Stephen had with Obadiah was still on his mind hours later, as Tony was dropping him off back home. And it was Tony, not JARVIS, who had driven them back, having asked JARVIS to return control when he’d sat down in the car. Tony had slid up to the curb so smoothly though that it might as well have been the autopilot still in control.

“So, that’s what it is like being you,” Stephen observed wryly, breaking the silence. There was much he wanted to ask, much more he knew he shouldn’t ask. If he asked, it meant he was at least a little open to being involved in the mess that was Tony’s life. Stephen Strange liked things to be simple, elegant.

“Yup,” Tony looked tired, happy and yet, behind his eyes a little defeated. “Kinda. That’s not everyday life for anyone.”

Stephen knew he had to ask. Knew his curiosity was going to get the better of him if he didn’t. Knew he wanted to spend more time with this strange, eccentric genius.

“Do you want to come up for coffee?” he threw out, decision made. He was doing this with both feet if he was doing it at all.

They were both looking forwards through the windshield, silence filling the air around them as Tony processed the question.

“You know I can’t drink coffee anymore, doctors’ orders.”

“Good,” Stephen breathed. “I don’t actually have any intention of making coffee.”

There was a pause and Stephen was certain he had just screwed up, misread everything that had been building between them, despite what everyone else seemed to think. He'd have to apologize, have to–

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Can you drive the car home for me, by yourself? I have a sudden thirst for a hot, tall beverage.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

Stephen still didn’t move until Tony had unbuckled his own seat belt and stepped out of the vehicle.

“Lead the way, Doc,” Tony said, after they’d both watched the car drive itself off, now empty of its passengers.

So Stephen did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I can't believe we've reached this chapter already. 
> 
> I might switch to posting weekly for a lil' bit instead of twice a week just because I'm now scrambling to get a few things finished for the end, but let's see. There's really only six main chapters-ish left after this anyway and then a few epilogue style things. 
> 
> There's eventually going to be a companion one-shot for this chapter that goes into the details of Stephen and Tony's dinner dates, as briefly mentioned here. I dearly wanted them to be from Tony's POV though, and thus the material got cut here to avoid me doubling up too much for the fic as a whole. Nothing cut here will actually stop the overall plot, but there's some cute moments. Stephen's not been the most reliable narrator when it comes to his interactions with Tony ;) 
> 
> The next chapter picks up where this finishes, with the boys at Stephen's place. How innocent. In totally unrelated news, this fic may soon be earning its explicit rating. A few times over. 
> 
> Thanks as ever for reading and all your kind comments! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn, mostly porn. A lot of porn. We finally reached the porn. 
> 
> Tony and Stephen get it on. 
> 
> Stephen likes his steak served very, very rare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway through the fic now word count wise, yay! 
> 
> This chapter is mostly porn, with the tiniest sprinkling of plot, but, mostly porn. It was one of my favourite to write, for certain. I think I'll keep with the weekly postings too, since we're not many chapters out now from finishing. So see you again next weekend! 
> 
> At the end of last chapter... 
> 
> _“Lead the way, Doc,” Tony said, after they’d both watched the car drive itself off, now empty of its passengers._
> 
> _So Stephen did._

The first time Stephen Strange kissed Tony Stark, it was on the neck.

Not a very traditional first kiss, but there was something about Tony’s neck that had been driving him wild for weeks now, calling to be touched. There was a burst of endorphins as he finally indulged and placed his lips to the warm skin.

It felt different to the showy, for entertainment, kiss Tony had given him at the end of the charity auction so many months ago now. And a whole world away from the necessary mouth-to-mouth during CPR Stephen had given Tony. Different as Stephen was getting his lips on Tony Stark, and this time? Well, wow.

After that first touch to his neck, the dam was broken and their lips were soon moving over each other. Tony’s tongue kept darting out run against Stephen’s as if to suggest what else his tongue could do. Stephen bit Tony’s bottom lip gently for a brief moment and pulled away, both of them breathing hard, eyes lit up with desire.

They were standing up against one of the large, floor-to-ceiling windows of Stephen’s apartment, so Stephen spun them around so Tony was back to the glass and he was standing in front.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” Tony admitted with a grin. “You’re not half–”

Stephen leaned down, grabbed Tony’s buttocks with his hands, and pressed in to kiss him again, massaging the glorious bubble butt as he went. This was nearly everything Stephen had been thinking about since he’d first met Tony Stark in person. As an added bonus, the butt felt just as good as Stephen had imagined it would.

“Ah!” Tony exclaimed as their teeth hit each other with a click.

“Apologies,” Stephen replied, his own front teeth hurting a little from the force.

“No, no, that was on me too. Think we got a little too over enthusiastic,” he grinned up at Stephen.

Their eyes locked and Stephen was halfway to kissing Tony again when he was stopped.

“I know I didn’t want coffee, but, could I get some water?”

Stephen stepped back, panting slightly, and nodded. “Of course, yes, sure. Let’s just, yes,” he tumbled out as he turned and walked towards the kitchen. “Water’s a good idea. It’s been a long night.”

“I was hoping we could make it a bit longer,” Tony said gently, making Stephen’s cock perk up again. “It’s just, I’m suddenly super thirsty? And if I don’t get something to drink now, it’ll only be later in the middle of, well, other things.”

Stephen’s mouth too felt suddenly dry.

“Yes. Let’s have some water.”

They sat side by side on Stephen’s expensive, leather settee sipping from their glasses of water. Stephen used to keep bottles in the house, but Christine made him switch to a filtered-water system to improve his carbon footprint.

“Was the reporter upset you weren’t going public with the news about the weapons shutdown tonight?”

Tony swallowed his mouthful of water and considered Stephen’s question carefully.

“Christine? Yes.” He took another gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of the hand not holding the glass. “Definitely. Upset is putting it delicately. I expect she’ll be running something not too polite about me by tomorrow.”

“She probably thinks you don’t mean it anymore.” Stephen wondered this too. He’d seen the look Stane had given Tony when the topic had come up. He’d felt the control Stane seemed to feel he had over Tony’s life.

“Yup.” Tony drained the rest of his glass down in one and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. “But she’s wrong. The last contract finishes up in ten weeks from now. And at that point, we’re not making any more weapons. I meant what I said, despite what anyone else might think. They’re all assuming I’m going to cave and sign up for more.”

Stephen nodded, feeling oddly proud in that moment of Tony’s determination.

“And your business partner? Godfather? Whatever he is, he seems… not happy?” And he seemed evil, and creepy, but Stephen kept those points to himself.

Tony’s shoulders slumped and he let out a deep breath. “Pretty much. He used to always support me in anything, even more than my dad when I was a kid. But he’s concerned about the future of the company lately, has been since I first suggested this to him. I’ve proven though that we have a future beyond war. It’s just been tough, like I’m a constant disappointment to him these days.”

Tony was upset and Stephen wanted to comfort him somehow, wanted to assure him things could work out. It was stupid, it was dumb, it was too _emotional_ , too real. There was too much potential for this to all suddenly grow into something horribly dramatic. Stephen didn’t want drama, he just wanted a quiet, happy life.

“It doesn’t matter what he or anyone else wants at this point,” Tony continued, sounding far more sure of himself. “I’m head of research and development, and still the majority shareholder in the company. Without me, they’re not making new weapons. Period,” Tony said firmly.

Stephen put his own glass of water down and twisted so he could look at Tony side-on.

“That’ll ought to free up some time in your schedule, not having to design weapons anymore.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Got any suggestions for how I could fill my free time?”

Stephen placed his left hand on Tony’s right knee. “A few.” He stroked his thumb up and down the silky material of Tony’s black tuxedo pants.

“You know, Peter said that Happy said I was being friend-zoned by you,” Tony said casually enough. “I mean, all those lunches, and you kept feeding me dinner… I didn’t know where we were going with this… Or where we are going.”

“And what did you tell him in reply?”

“That the friend-zone is a toxic concept and,” Tony’s breath hitched as Stephen’s hand came to rest on the bulge beneath Tony’s pants, “and that friendship was worthwhile on its own. But sometimes great romantic relationships come out of friendship. So it’s worth investing the time.”

“You really are a genius, aren’t you?”

In a rush of limbs, they were back to making out again. Tony had moved his hands into Stephen’s hair and was playing around with it. The big downside to sitting down was Stephen no longer had easy access to Tony’s butt, so he settled for touching as much of the rest of Tony as he could.

“Need any more water?” Stephen asked, pulling back just enough to get the words out.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Bedroom?” Stephen asked.

“Bedroom,” Tony agreed. “I am way too stiff and old to be doing it on couches anymore,” he laughed, standing up a little inelegantly.

“This is a particularly bad one,” Stephen admitted. “My bed is excellent though.” His bedroom was impersonal, sparsely decorated. He hadn’t cared much about how it was decorated, but he had taken great interest in ensuring the bed was perfect for both sleeping and fucking.

It was painted in a light gray, with dark gray accents. Thick, heavy curtains covered all the windows, ensuring no light was getting in until he decided it was allowed. There was only one nightstand on the right-hand side. It was pointless having two when he was the only one sleeping in the bed on a regular basis, and Stephen had never wanted to give some random hook-up the opportunity of thinking things might go further.

“I look forward to seeing what hands as skilled as yours can get up to, Doc.”

Stephen’s erection was ready to spring free of his pants by the time he took them off. He was naked way before Tony who had troubles getting his cuffs undone, so he sat down on the bed and enjoyed his private strip show as Tony hurried to match Stephen’s level of nakedness.

Eventually Tony was naked, with the exception of his black dress socks. Tony sighed and bent over to take those off.

“You’d think I’d remember to take my socks off first, wouldn’t you? So I don’t have to do the whole naked, sock taking off dance.”

Stephen chuckled. “You do it pretty well, I have to say. I’m enjoying the show.”

“Ta-da!” Tony declared, flinging his socks into the pile of discarded clothes.

Stephen’s cock twitched, he stood up to be closer to Tony again. Their naked flesh pressed up against each other, cocks close but not quite touching yet.

“I hadn’t been sure how this evening was going to turn out,” Tony admitted.

“You’re happy with the current state of affairs?” Stephen found himself nibbling Tony’s ear, hands enjoying the feel of Tony’s bare back under his finger tips.

“Exceptionally, very much, yes. It’s been a while,” he said quietly.

“I’ll be gentle,” Stephen promised, voice low, almost feral, hands now feeling up Tony’s pecs.

“You don’t have to be,” Tony shot back, eyes and body beckoning Stephen.

“Well,” Stephen paused, his hands had got to between Tony’s pecs. He looked down and noted a clear, thick scar running along Tony’s chest. “When did you have surgery?” he frowned. He’d seen Tony’s chest before in that dirty, no-good alleyway when he’d collapsed and Stephen had needed to rip Tony’s shirt apart, but he’d never noticed the scar back then, too busy focusing on saving Tony’s life.

“Huh? Oh, that ugly old thing? Years ago, no biggie, all fixed.” He leaned in to kiss Stephen again. “Unless it bothers you?” Tony whispered against Stephen’s lips, teasing.

“No, not at all,” Stephen said firmly, bending down in that second to kiss his way up Tony’s torso, licking along the line of the incision. “Your surgeon did a crap job with the closing stitches, by the way.”

“I think it adds character,” Tony retorted, pushing Stephen down onto the bed.

Stephen dragged Tony down with him and soon the two were rutting against each other, messing up the clean sheets.

At some point in the proceedings, Stephen’s hands found their way to Tony’s ass again, where he went back to playing with the now naked, glorious globes.

“You got a thing for my butt there, Strange.”

“In my medical opinion, you have the best butt. Ever. Period. In the world.”

“Oh, in your medical opinion?”

“Yes,” Stephen panted. “Definitely. Personal and professional.”

“What about my balls?” Tony teased.

Stephen reached down and fondled Tony’s testicles in one hand, feeling their weight and warmth. “Good. No lumps there.”

“Oh good, am I going to get a free ball check every time we do this?”

Tony didn’t sound too upset about the prospect. Stephen’s brain was trying to process the fact Tony thought there might be more of this in the future. It was an oddly happy thought.

“Yes. Not that it should stop you checking yourself.”

Tony pushed himself away from Stephen and laid on his back, head propped up on a couple of pillows.

“What about my cock? Is that lump free?”

Stephen wrapped his fingers around Tony’s hardening dick, and with reverent attention and poise, took to moving his hand slowly up and down. He did this a few times before he started to rub his thumb over the head.

“This is a very, very thorough examination. I’ll be sure to give you a five star review.”

Tony had his eyes shut, taking in the feeling of Stephen exploring him. Stephen was tempted to lean in and fill his mouth with premium Stark Cock, but for that to happen, he’d have to stop kissing Tony long enough to actually carry it through.

Tony was panting with need, huffing out short breaths between kisses, while Stephen kept slowly stroking Tony’s cock.

“You’re very good at that,” Tony said, as if Stephen wasn’t aware.

“I know,” Stephen smirked. He looked down again at the head of Tony’s dick, mouth watering slightly.

“You wanna, wanna…” Tony struggled to regain his words. “Um.”

“Yes?” Stephen asked, giving a pointed twist to Tony’s cock.

“Wanna fuck me?”

Stephen’s eyebrows raised of their own accord. He hadn’t thought, hadn’t really wanted to just _assume_.

“Don’t worry, Stephen, I’ll tell everyone you never put out on the first date,” Tony quipped, flipping himself over on the bed and getting onto all fours.

Stephen indulged himself and leaned down to bite gently at the flesh of Tony’s ass.

“Hey!” Tony laughed. “No biting, not a steak.”

Stephen slapped the already fading bite mark gently. “Hums, maybe not, but it is delicious.”

“Wait, wait,” Tony suddenly interjected, turning his head awkwardly so he could look at Stephen. “Lube and condoms, right?”

“Of course,” Stephen agreed. “I wouldn’t have tried for anything else,” he reassured Tony. “And then, when you’re all ready, I’m going to fill you so full of my cock you’ll be tasting me soon.”

“Promises, promises,” Tony said in a sing-song voice, slowly wiggling his rear.

Stephen started with stretching Tony out. Fingers well lubricated, twisting and moving, indulging in the feel. He probably didn’t need to be as thorough as he was being but he lost himself in the sensation. He had used way more lube than was really necessary, but there was something about the feel of skin all greased up like this that intoxicated Stephen’s mind.

“Unless you’re planning to drive a car in there, I think I’m about ready for that hard fucking you promised me now,” Tony moaned some time later.

“Not going to say pretty please?” Stephen teased, tearing open the condom wrapper. His hands shook a little with the strength of his lust. His brain was shouting out _wantwantwant_ to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Could ask you the same thing,” Tony ground out. “Thought you were into this?” He wiggled his butt again and Stephen’s dick almost decided that was enough to come.

“Fuck,” Stephen huffed, as he finally started to sink into Tony.

“Fuck, yes,” Tony laughed back, shifting his hips to bare down on Stephen thrusting in.

They lost themselves in the feel of this, of discovering their first time together. Stephen indulged in the feeling of Tony around his cock, in front of his chest. In the sight of his back arched up, the lingering scent of his cologne that Stephen couldn’t get enough of. It was a smell that had Stephen leaning down into Tony’s neck a few more times while fucking the other man just to breathe in, to lay soft kisses around his neck and the shell of his ear.

It felt like it had been building for long enough. Like this was the climax of more than just their odd, angry flirting.

It was also the most alive Stephen had felt in so long.

Tony Stark had made him happy in recent weeks. Working on the artificial sense touch system had been a wake-up call to Stephen that maybe he should have been pushing his brain harder. And there was Tony, turning up in his life to ask Stephen questions, to push him, as he took inspiration from biology to improve his technology.

There was a rush in Stephen’s ears, a tightness to his chest as his cock inside Tony’s hot, well lubed hole, became even harder. As he came, hard, almost painfully hard, Stephen had a revelation.

“You’re trying to cure paralysis,” he breathed out, holding the base of the condom as he pulled out. “That’s the endgame here. You’re learning how to fake nerves so you can cure paralysis.”

“Yes,” Tony admitted, turning over again and pulling Stephen down to kiss him. “Amongst other things, but that’s a good start.”

“Like what?” Stephen enquired. “What else would need fake nerves?”

“For JARVIS,” Tony whispered, as if that explained it all. “He deserves it.” Tony pulled Stephen in to kiss him thoroughly, drowning out all other thoughts of Tony’s project from Stephen’s mind.

The now filled condom was heavy on the end of Stephen’s softening dick, but he didn’t want to move apart from Tony to take it off, not yet. Not while Tony was kissing him like his life depended on it. He was very aware that Tony had taken his own cock in hand and was working himself to completion while they made out.

Eventually Tony grunted a little then completely relaxed, his own hand full of his now expelled ejaculate.

“Thought you might have given me the old reach-around there at least,” Tony quipped. “But that worked.”

Stephen had a moment to feel bad. “I’d have fucked you until you came, except, well...”

“Yes?” Tony asked expectantly.

“I was, very, very turned on,” Stephen admitted. “Maybe another time?”

Tony laughed at that. “Get me a washcloth and I’ll forgive you, this time,” Tony said faux magnanimously, with a quirk to his lips that suggested he wasn’t as upset with Stephen as Stephen would be with himself later on. He’d been selfish, so caught up in everything Tony he hadn’t really thought ahead as far as he could have. His brain was still buzzing from his own pleasure, rendering him a touch senseless.

“Cloth, right. I have that covered.”

“This is nice,” Tony sleepily announced, as Stephen gently wiped Tony’s cock clean. “I could get used to this. Your sheets are very nice.”

Stephen huffed a small laugh. “I bet yours are better.”

Tony stretched out a little more and wiggled to feel the sheets against him. “Possibly. Maybe? I don’t know, I don’t sleep a lot when I’m at home.”

“You should,” Stephen said.

“Doctor’s orders?”

“Definitely.” Stephen bent down and pressed a very self-indulgent kiss to Tony’s temple and then went to throw the now dirty wash clothes into his bathroom hamper.

Tony was fast asleep by the time he got back, somehow on Stephen’s side of the massive bed. Stephen rolled his eyes and smiled as he too slid under the covers and let sleep take over.

***

“Ppppsttt.”

Stephen swatted at the fly buzzing around him. But flies couldn’t rock him gently like this one was.

“Wazzisit?” he mumbled, brain still mostly asleep.

“I gotta go.”

Stephen opened his eyes a crack and saw Tony almost fully dressed, lit only by the light of the bedside lamp.

“It’s like, stupid o’clock in the morning? Come back to bed?” Stephen whinged. The bed was still warm from where Tony had slept, so he couldn’t have been up for long.

“No, it’s almost 6. And I promised Peter I’d have breakfast with him.”

“Peter?” Tony’s partner, maybe? That didn’t sound right. Stephen opened his eyes a bit more and sat up against the headboard. “Your…?”

“Kid, remember? But not my kid. My non-adopted, non-son, child.”

Something in Stephen’s brain did click over to tell him they had discussed Peter before. Later on, he’d remember the time he’d even met Peter in the hospital.

“Ah. That Peter.”

“Yes. With everything that’s happened to him lately, we’re doing this whole,” Tony’s hands flailed around as he looked for the right words, “family breakfast thing? It is to try and give Peter some stability in his life. May does too many late shifts for us to have dinner together, so breakfast it is.”

“So… you can’t ever miss breakfast?”

Tony paused at this. “Well, maybe, theoretically, with advanced notice.”

“I see.”

Tony pulled his socks on. The tux was beyond rumpled at this point, and Tony’s hair was edging towards artfully mused.

“Do you need a ride? Since you sent your car home.”

“I asked JARVIS to send me one back. I got it sorted.”

Stephen was achingly aware of his own nakedness under the blanket when Tony leaned down to kiss him.

“Thanks for a pretty great night, Stephen. I hope we can do it again some other time. Sorry to wake you up so early, just...”

“I wouldn’t have wanted to wake up and find you just gone,” Stephen admitted. “And thanks, I hope too that we can organize to, ahem, see each other again at some point.”

“But no pizza,” Tony quipped, shooting Stephen a blinding smile.

“No pizza.”

***

Stephen managed to get back to sleep not long after he’d heard the click of the front door signaling Tony’s exit. Probably in a perfect world he would have gotten up and seen the man out, kissing him goodbye at the front door. But with Tony he just felt so relaxed it hadn’t felt necessary. He knew they’d see each other again, probably at the hospital for lunch on Monday. He might even message the other man later, make some quip about… well, he’d decide that later.

At 8am, Stephen’s late start Saturday alarm went off. As he stood in front of the mirror brushing his teeth, he thought about Tony Stark. As he pulled out some clothes for the day, he thought about Tony Stark. As he ate his breakfast, he thought about Tony Stark.

If he’d ever thought sleeping with Tony was going to cure him of his weird Tony obsession, he’d be wrong.

 _Tonytonytonytonytonytony_ , Stephen’s heart beat. It went on like that over the rest of the morning. Over the weird little messages they shared with each other, starting with Tony’s photo of a plate of badly-cooked eggs. Happy, Tony reported, had insisted on cooking.

“I make great eggs,” Stephen had texted back.

“I don’t doubt that,” Tony messaged back soon after.

Stephen was turning into a teenager, there was no other explanation for the warmth that heated his chest when he saw how quickly Tony was responding.

“Come over for Sunday brunch, I’ll cook you some.”

There was a pause in the reply from Tony, even though the message was on _has been read_ status. Maybe the suggestion had been too much, too soon?

“Make it lunch and I’ll be there,” Tony eventually replied.

“Ha!” Stephen celebrated out loud. It hadn’t taken much to get Tony to agree to coming back. Stephen’s cock started to ask for attention. “Not now,” Stephen told it.

He walked over to his refrigerator to check what he had in, already knowing his day was destined to end up at the grocery store.

With a bounce in his step, Stephen took the elevator down to the parking garage level and walked over to his car. Even the car looked happier this morning than it had the day before.

He was a couple of yards from his car when it happened.

Stephen would never remember much about that moment, but he would have some of the scars with him for the rest of his life. His colleagues would later tell him that he was lucky the impact of the blast alone hadn’t killed him. Not many people manage to survive being thrown back 10 feet, with only a solid concrete wall to stop their trajectory.

And if the boom of his car exploding hadn’t attracted attention on its own, the sound of all the building’s car alarms going off at once would have. Not that Stephen had been conscious to hear that part happening. He had been too busy bleeding out on the ground to be able to worry about the car alarms.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen and Tony enjoy post-coital bliss. 
> 
> Haha, just kidding.

“Go fish.”

Stephen looked up from his cards. “We’re playing Spades.”

“Ah,” Tony smiled and looked down at his cards again. “That might explain why I’m doing so badly.”

“Hums. That might be better explained by your terrible hand, and thus, you trying to cheat by making me think we’re playing Go Fish.”

“Go fish?” Tony tried again.

Stephen laughed, which only made his side hurt a little more. After weeks in bed recovering from surgeries, he’d just about had enough of being on the patient-side of his time in the hospital. The only thing he hadn’t had enough of was Tony’s visits. They’d been rather pleasant, to put it mildly.

“I’m getting out of here tomorrow,” Stephen said vaguely, as if it wasn’t important.

Tony shifted his seat, eyes focused suddenly very intensely on his cards.

“Tony?” Stephen prompted after a moment.

Tony put his cards down on the table and sat back in the squeaky, vinyl-covered visitor’s chair. He put his hands behind his head and studied Stephen.

“Tony?” Stephen tried again, feeling worried at the strange twist in the atmosphere.

Tony sat up straight, hands on his knees now. “I keep meaning to say, um, but I wasn’t sure how to say it...”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, about, well, everything. All of this.” He rubbed the back of his head absently, eyes now wandering around Stephen’s plus, private room. “You shouldn’t have been caught up in whatever this is.”

Stephen’s internal voice shouted at him _I agree, I agree!_

“There’s no proof yet that they had been out to blow up your car, Tony.”

Tony shot him a wry smile. “After the poisoning and everything… it seemed pretty obvious to me, and my head of security, and many of New York’s finest police, FBI and other agency members that someone is indeed trying to kill me.”

“Why are they after you?” Stephen finally asked. It had been on his mind for a while.

Tony shrugged, “Take your pick. Who I am, what I do, property I own, who knows? The list is endless. They’ve been trying to get me to narrow down a list of suspects. We’ve got a top 50 most likely right now.”

“I hope I’m not on that list,” Stephen said, picking up Tony’s discarded playing cards and shuffling the deck. “Or, if I am, that I’m at least in the top 10.”

“As if I wouldn’t already be dead if you’d really been out to kill me. All those lunches we’ve shared? Time spent exchanging ideas for the touch sensors?”

 _That night we slept together_ , Stephen’s mind added.

That hadn’t come up in the time he’d been in hospital.

He’d been looking forward to doing it all again at some point with Tony, maybe, hopefully, perhaps. But now Stephen had to deal with the fact he had scars that weren’t likely to fade any time soon scattered on his torso and right arm from the impact of the accident, and damage to one shoulder that should fully heal eventually. Not to mention the hole in his head where they’d had to drill to release the pressure from his swelling brain.

“How’s the final prototype for the hand going?” Stephen asked to change the topic.

He didn’t remember the car exploding, which was not too surprising given the head injuries the blast had caused. He did remember waking up in searing pain, being told he’d been in a coma. He remembered Christine coming to visit and touching his hand so softly he wondered if he was actually dying and no one had had the nerve yet to tell him. He didn’t want to remember any of it, didn’t want to feel weak, or confused as to why this had happened to him. He wanted to be out of the hospital, in his own space again. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted… he needed all these thoughts of feeling so _weak,_ so _helpless_ , to disappear.

Tony had been talking while Stephen’s thoughts swirled angrily around his head.

“I was thinking, I can bring it over to your place if you’d like to see it?” Tony finished up.

“I’d like that,” Stephen admitted.

“You get out tomorrow, right?” Tony was standing and putting on his jacket to prepare to leave. Stephen knew it was Robot Club that afternoon, so it made sense, even if he was sad his time with Tony was being cut short. Stephen thought to object about Tony leaving, but he’d already been told this was an extra special Robot Club.

“Whether they want to release me or not, yes. I can’t survive much longer within these four walls,” he said dramatically.

Tony snorted. “You’re a doctor, you spend most of your waking hours in these four walls.”

“And then I get to go home to my bed, to my sheets, to my towels.”

“Point taken,” Tony nodded sympathetically. “They are very nice sheets.” They both shot each other heated looks. “How about I text you tomorrow evening, organize coming over with the prototype?”

Stephen found himself smiling at Tony again, wild thoughts of kissing him flitting through his mind. “I’ll be off for at least another week from work, so, anytime.”

“See you around,” Tony shot Stephen a wink.

Two weeks later, Stephen still hadn’t seen the prototype, nor had he heard from Tony since that day in the hospital room. It hurt, he hurt. It was a pain so different and twisted to the physical pain he was still experiencing too.

Two weeks of rolling around inside his own apartment, hating the world – and the fact he still felt so weak – was taking its toll on Stephen. After punching a mirror and making himself sick on a combination of painkillers, whiskey, and too much Netflix, Stephen decided it was probably time he faced the music and returned to work. Even if that did mean dealing with the dreaded return to work committee, urgh, but it would be worth it to give his life back a little more meaning. To remind himself that the likes of exploding cars and Tony Fucking Stark meant nothing to him.

***

Stephen had a headache yet again. The skull injury still throbbed tenderly whenever his blood pressure spiked. He focused as best he could on the committee evaluating him, asking him dumbass question after dumbass question to try and see if he was fit and ready to go back to work. It was all so pointless, and Stephen could have told them already he was ready. He was a board-certified doctor, for fuck sakes, why couldn’t they just take his word on it?

“I know you must be tired of all the questions, Dr. Strange,” one of the committee said, making Stephen roll his eyes again. If they knew, why did they persist? “But we promise we’ll be finished soon.”

“Are you not interested in the therapy that’s been offered to you?” asked another, who Stephen refused to learn the name of.

“No,” Stephen bit out. “I can process what happened to me perfectly, thank you. I got close enough to my car for the chip in the key to unlock the vehicle, and that triggered a detonation. I then spent three days in a coma, but to everyone’s surprise, am on the road to full recovery since. It has been weeks now. I’m not concussed, I’m not crazy, I’m not paranoid, I just want to return to my work.”

“Have the police found out who planted the device?”

Stephen’s left eye twitched. He didn’t think that was part of the official line of questioning at all. The information would probably be on some gossip site before the end of the day.

“Not yet, no. I think they’re assuming the person who did it will just turn themselves in – or so I assume from the lack of effort they’ve put into things so far.”

The police had been baffled at first, even if they hadn’t wanted to admit it. Suspicion had for a brief moment apparently been cast on the families of patients who were dissatisfied with Stephen’s work. People who had struggled to grasp that while he may play god, that didn’t make him one, that didn’t make him able to wave a magic wand and fix everything for them.

Tony had gone to the police by himself while Stephen was still in his medically induced coma and suggested that it had been a case of mistaken identity. It was Tony who had told the police he and Stephen had identical Lamborghinis, and that Tony had driven Stephen to an event the night before. For anyone setting a bomb, they might have assumed Stephen’s Lamborghini was Tony’s car.

Rage bubbled up in Stephen again that he’d been put in this position because of a botched assassination on Tony, and Tony wouldn’t even pick up the phone since Stephen had been released. Tony who couldn't be bothered replying to a single message. He gets blown up because of someone trying to kill Tony, and Tony won’t even say hi to him anymore? How was that fair? 

“We’ve concluded you’re allowed back on a part-time basis for now, Dr. Strange. Your expertise has definitely been missed in the hospital.”

“Good,” he ground out, refusing to shake any of the offered hands.

“And then over the next month, we’d like to see you return to full hours.”

“Perfect,” he spat.

It was the answer he’d wanted, so why did he feel like he’d lost?

Christine was waiting for him in his office when he stomped back in there. She stood up as he came in the door, and upon seeing the look of thunder on his face, assumed the worse.

“Stephen, I’m sorry, they just need to make sure their backs are covered. If a patient sues–”

“They approved my return,” he snapped, sitting down in his chair.

“Oh!” she looked puzzled at him. “Oh, and that’s a… bad thing?”

“I shouldn’t have had to sit through the, the… _humiliation_ of going before those buffoons in the first place! If I say I’m fit to return to work, I’m fit to return to work.”

He sat himself down in a huff.

Christine leaned over the desk and put her hand on top of his to comfort him.

“I know, I know and it must hurt awfully. None of this is your fault, yet you’re the one having to deal with the fallout.” She squeezed his hand gently. “It will get better, Stephen.”

The pity in her eyes was very clear. He didn’t want her pity. He wanted her admiration, her love, her devotion. Not in the same way he’d used to want it, but he still wanted it.

The real kicker in the whole mess was that he’d not even had 24 hours of being able to imagine the future possibilities with Tony when, when…

“Fuck!” he shouted at nothing and no one in particular. “Fuck.”

Because, if he was honest with himself, it hadn’t really just been since they slept together that Stephen had been picturing a future for them. He’d been falling for Tony for weeks.

“If you want to stay with Chris and me while you get yourself sorted, you can, you know?”

“And a screaming baby?” he added tartly, knowing he was being unfair to her.

Christine winced. “Good point.”

Stephen rubbed his face. He would need to sort his facial hair out if he was to return to seeing patients. Either that or go full hipster.

He groaned to himself at the thought of growing his hair out for a _manbun_.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stephen told Christine and himself.

Her eyes were full of worry still, but it filled Stephen full of warmth to have her here in the hospital again, with him.

“I know,” Christine agreed. “It will all work itself out, eventually.”

***

Stephen bought a new car and at the suggestion of the police and rented a new parking space away from his apartment building.

The security footage from his apartment parking level had shown nothing unusual, but later analysis showed that the footage had been looped – so someone had been smart enough to sort that out. Stephen had half a mind to buy a new apartment altogether. He was not enjoying the inconvenience of his car being so far away from where he lived. Life felt weird. Even Shirley was being annoyingly nice and polite to him. She'd had the nerve to give him cookies her wife had made when he’d still been in the hospital.

Sometimes his head still hurt, but the burn marks and other wounds around his body were still slowly healing. All in all, Stephen was well on his way to recovery. He knew eventually he'd be able to slip back into his normal routines. The only thing that was wrong, that was different, was the startling lack of Tony Stark at the hospital.

Stephen should have been celebrating the fact he had reclaimed his parking space – instead, he just felt betrayed.

One little car bomb, one that was most likely intended _for Tony_ , and Stark had fucked off out of Stephen’s life, as if he hadn’t been occupying it for the seven months prior, or longer, if Stephen really wanted to be honest with himself, which he didn’t.

How. Dare. He.

Tony wasn’t turning up to the hospital anymore. A fact Stephen had to bribe out of one of the Robot Club kids with more candy from the vending machine. There wasn’t any joy to be had from having his parking space back in this manner.

Stephen lasted three and a half weeks back at work before he’d finally had enough. He was going to confront Tony Stark. He was going to demand the man do… do… Well, he’d figure that part out when he was at Stark Tower. When he was banging on Tony’s door. Or banging Tony. Or just _something_. There had to be something that would bring closure to all of this. Even if it was just Tony declaring:

“Okay, you win, you can have the parking space back.”

“What?” Stephen asked, focusing in more on the words, less on the haze of rage clouding much of his conscious mind.

“I said, you can have your space back. There, you win.”

Tony looked tired. He was dressed in a ratty, old-looking MIT-branded hoodie, beard longer than Stephen had ever seen it.

Happy was standing next to Tony, looking for all the world like he’d quite happily restrain Stephen if he had even the slightest reason to.

“Take the parking space,” Tony repeated again, this time more emphatically. "It isn't like I need it anymore."

“This isn’t about the space!” Stephen threw his hands up, his nostrils flared. The sound was lost in the large space of the Stark Industries foyer.

The building’s foyer was designed to look like some cross between a hotel and an office. It was the first time Stephen had ever been inside Stark Tower and he was somewhat impressed at the feeling of warmth that came from such a large space. Even though it was getting on for 9pm, there were still plenty of people milling about, coming and going from the office. It seemed Tony wasn’t the only one who kept odd hours.

During his drive over, Stephen hadn’t really stopped to think about just how he was going to get to Tony’s private penthouse. Of course there were security officers at the entrances. Of course there were cameras everywhere. After arguing with a receptionist and security for a while, as they tried to throw Stephen out of the building, Tony had emerged from the private elevator with Happy in tow.

“I owe you an apology,” had been Tony’s opening gambit.

“Yes, yes you do,” Stephen had growled back.

“But, I can’t do this anymore,” Tony explained, eyes bright, seeking Stephen’s understanding.

Stephen hadn’t taken too kindly to that. His mamma would have been ashamed of how he’d acted. But he had been literally _blown up_. At some point he was allowed to make a fuss.

“This was never about the fucking parking space!” Stephen spat. How dare Tony think he could just offer it up and everything would be fixed. 

“Then what is it about?” Tony sighed. “I’m busy, Stephen, just tell me what you want, because I sure as hell can't work it out.”

_You. The promise of what we had together. That weird spark of hope that had been growing that maybe someone understood me. Our afternoons working together, and evenings messaging you with… getting to learn about you._

“Your car,” Stephen settled on. “Mine got destroyed because of something you're involved in, I want yours. Plus, you owe me anyway, for _saving your life_ when you were poisoned, and–”

“Sure,” Tony shrugged. “There’s a few modifications I’ll need to switch off for legal reasons, but it’s yours.”

Happy made a strangled noise from behind Tony.

“Good,” Stephen glowered down at Tony, back as straight as it could be to reach his full height.

“How… how are you doing?” Tony searched Stephen’s face. “Bruising around your face is gone.”

“It has been gone for weeks.” Something Tony would have known if he’d been around. If he’d kept in contact like he said he was going to. Unconsciously Stephen smoothed his hair over the still healing wound on the side of his head. The hair would grow back eventually, but in the meanwhile he'd taken to smoothing the rest of his hair over to cover the shaved part. 

For a moment it felt to Stephen like Tony was going to say something else, something more, and then Tony just stuck his hands in his pockets and slouched awfully.

“That shouldn’t have happened to you, and you have no idea how sorry I am that it did.”

“Quite,” Stephen snapped back.

“Boss,” Happy interrupted. “We gotta get going.” Happy’s eyes were scanning the area they were in. “It isn’t safe to be down here out in public like this,” he added in an undertone, eyes glued to something in the far-right corner of the area.

“Go,” Stephen waved Tony off flippantly. “Enjoy your life, Stark. Just have someone drop off the car, keys, and papers by the end of the week.”

“Goodbye, Doctor Strange,” Stephen heard Tony reply stiffly, but Stephen was already heading out of the building, fists shaking.

He sat in his car a long while trying to get his emotions under control before finally driving home. Stephen had to resist the urge to stop at a bar and drink until he forgot, and then pick up somebody to spend the night with. Explaining all the new, still healing scars was going to take too long anyway to make a one-night stand palatable at the moment, he reasoned. His healing body needed sleep, even if the potential orgasm-induced endorphin rush was still so very, very tempting, and promised a quick fix to get the bad taste of Tony’s brush-off out of his mouth.

With time Stephen knew he would heal, in all the ways that mattered. So long as he had his work, Christine, and half a bottle of Jack Daniels, he’d heal. At a minimum, he’d function. He’d function himself into the history books of being an excellent doctor, top of his field. It had just been a while since he’d last felt so cast aside by anyone, so looked over and _used_ as he had felt with Tony.

For the first time in a long time, Stephen had entertained the notion of a relationship. Of forming a partnership with someone who challenged him, who complemented him in so many ways, someone he felt so oddly, unnervingly comfortable with. He was grieving that potential. Grieving for something he hadn’t begun to realize was possible until it no longer was.

Stephen entered his apartment and wearily toed his shoes, casting a look at the time as he did so. It was nearly 10pm and he should go to bed. A sleeping brain would heal faster, he knew that better than most.

Water, and then bed, he decided. When Stephen flicked on the light in his kitchen though, he immediately knew he wasn’t going to be getting to sleep any time soon.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His hands are fine! Have no fear <3 
> 
> And anyway, why go after Stephen's hands first when there's still his heart to break? 
> 
> Hope everyone has had a great week! What's the weather been like where you are?


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen just wanted to go to bed but now he's got this mess to deal with first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the lateness of this and moving off track with my schedule. It's been a bit of a hellish fortnight and I just couldn't focus enough to do anything productive. 
> 
> The fic is completely written, so it shall be finished :)
> 
> Last time: 
> 
> _Stephen entered his apartment and wearily toed his shoes, casting a look at the time as he did so. It was nearly 10pm and he should go to bed. A sleeping brain would heal faster, he knew that better than most._
> 
> _Water, and then bed, he decided. When Stephen flicked on the light in his kitchen though, he immediately knew he wasn’t going to be getting to sleep any time soon._

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Tony was sitting at the kitchen island on one of the high stools, his legs swinging back and forth. Stephen couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat on one of those stools himself.

“I want to explain.”

He looked gorgeous. Stephen wanted to touch his hair or rub his fingers over Tony’s jaw just to feel it again. But he was still angry, still hurting, still feeling so lost.

“You’re a jerk. There, I explained it.”

Stephen reached up to one of the cupboards and took out his favorite brandy glass. He walked over to his freezer to find the vodka stored within and poured himself an unhealthy measure.

Tony watched with worry on his face as Stephen took a deep drink from the glass.

“Not going to ask how I got here before you?”

Stephen raised an eyebrow. “I have been in a car with you, remember? You drive like a menace. And,” he paused to take another burning mouthful of vodka, “I wouldn’t put it past you to be able to change the street lights to green for you as you went.”

Tony sniffed. “I’d never do that.”

Stephen leveled his gaze at Tony.

“I’d never do that, and be stupid enough to get caught for it,” Tony amended.

It wasn’t just the vodka that was causing a heat to rise in Stephen’s chest. It was a weird, squidgy feeling of hope. If Tony was here, if Tony was here to explain, then there was more to all of this than just Tony growing bored with things.

Stephen sat down at another stool, leaving an empty one between him and Tony.

“So, Mr. Dramatic, if you’re here to explain, then explain.”

Tony looked Stephen in the eye for a moment, before sighing and looking around the kitchen.

“I’m being watched, followed, probably stalked? Maybe bugged. Probably bugged,” Tony frowned.

“Because someone is trying to kill you, I worked that out for myself.” Stephen didn’t know if he cared. Didn’t know if anything Tony said at this point could make up for the way the other man had acted. But he needed to know what was happening, needed closure on this messy, stupidly tiny part of his life that otherwise was going to haunt him.

Tony’s eyes flicked up to the thin, still healing, pinkish line running from Stephen’s left cheek down towards his neck.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

Stephen took another sip from his drink and when Tony was still being quiet, Stephen slammed the glass down a little harder than necessary.

“I don’t get you,” he spat. “I don’t get you at all. You can have whatever you want, but apparently what you want is to help kids and annoy the crap out of me. There’s no other reason for you to have come into my life, I know because I’ve been thinking about it. Thinking about it way too much.” He heaved a breath, simultaneously annoyed with himself for letting it all out and happy to have got it off his chest.

“I feel safe in the hospital,” Tony started slowly, not looking surprised or upset by the rant. “Like, really safe. In a way I haven’t felt in years. I…” Tony let out a slow, shaky breath. “You know my scars?” He rubbed his chest and Stephen remembered kissing those scars. “I had a massive coronary incident five years ago, it freaked me out… mostly because it was my fault it happened. I was struggling with drugs and fucked my heart up. I have a pacemaker now.”

“You let someone put tech you hadn’t designed into you?” Stephen asked with some disbelief.

“At first it wasn’t mine, I didn't have much of a chance to come up with one while I was dying.”

Stephen rolled his eyes. There was clearly more to that story, but he didn’t want the chance he might feel even a shred of sympathy for Tony tonight. “And of course, when you were better, then you made something yourself, for yourself.”

“Bingo. Currently on version 2.8,” he tapped his chest lightly.

“That can’t be FDA approved.”

Tony shrugged one shoulder. “Pay enough, you can get what you want pretty easily.” Tony was lightly drumming his fingers on the marble work surface. “Nearly five years ago, just before the heart stuff started, my, well, my best friend died.”

The silence encompassed them for a moment. Stephen realized there was no point in saying he was sorry. He wasn’t, he didn’t know the person, didn’t know the situation.

“Your friend dies, your heart gives out, and then years later you want to help children with trauma? Am I missing anything?”

There was still some vodka left in the glass, but he didn’t feel like finishing it off anymore.

Tony paused and considered his words carefully. “I haven’t known you for very long, but I feel like I can trust you. Or at least, there are some things I need you to know so you can keep yourself safe.”

 _You can’t trust me_ , Stephen wanted to snap back, just to be pedantic. Just to pretend like he could hurt Tony in the same way he was himself hurting.

Tony reached over to a briefcase he’d put on the counter. He touched his fingertips to the locks, which glowed green briefly and then flicked open. From within the briefcase Tony took out a pile of photographs and handed them over.

“Someone has been selling my weapons illegally,” Tony explained, finally, _finally_.

Stephen flipped through the photographs, trying desperately to make sense of what he was seeing. Part of him was aware that what Tony had just shared with him was a huge deal. He was just a doctor though, he wasn’t part of this world Tony was involved with in any way that made this make sense.

“It turns out, for about a two-year period, every time one missile was built, a second, secret missile was also built and then later sold off on the black market. We don’t know where the surplus is being kept, but we do know they’re still being sold.”

There was a blurry image of a stockade of boxes all marked with the Stark Industries’ logo. Stephen couldn’t start to imagine how many had been made in total if these were just the twins of the ones legally sold.

“I never set out to be in the game of killing innocent people, you have to believe me,” Tony’s eyes begged. “I want to help the world be better, carry on the family legacy, not… not this,” he gestured to the photos.

Stephen put the pile down, brain ticking through everything. “This is why you’re shutting down the weapons manufacturing? But why are you only doing it now if this happened years ago?” He didn’t want to sound accusatory, though it was hard not to when confronted with the fact innocent people were dying at the hands of weapons Tony’s company had essentially _mislaid._

Tony’s eyes were soft, he looked so lost. “I only found out about all of this in the last few months when Christine Everhart gave me these photos. And suddenly it all clicked into place, what happened to Pepper began to make sense.”

“Pepper?”

Tony went back into his briefcase and came out with another photo, this one in a silver frame. “Pepper,” he repeated, handing the photo over.

The image was of a slightly younger Tony, looking more carefree and well-put together than the Tony Stephen had ever seen in person. Standing next to him in the photo was a stunning redhead. She looked eerily familiar, for reasons Stephen couldn’t pin down.

Tony and Pepper in the photo were turned facing each other, looking softly at one another. And even though they weren’t touching, there was a vibe from the image that felt so intimate, like they were sharing a joke the rest of the world would never understand.

“She was my assistant,” Tony said, the word seeming ill-fitting on his tongue. “And my best friend. Losing her hurt more than anything.”

“How did she die?” Stephen asked, distracted from working out where he’d seen Pepper before by the fact he was now wondering what fate had in store for those closest to Tony.

“That’s the funny thing,” Tony let out another shuddering breath and wiped uselessly at his now wet eyes. “I don’t know that she is dead. She’s nearly officially dead now, paperwork goes through in November. We had to wait because they never found a body, never found a cause of death, never found anything. It was like she just vanished one day.”

Stephen had dealt with grief from patients and their family in a professional setting and been trained on how to deal with it. That didn’t stop him from sliding the remainder of his vodka over to Tony and patting him gently on the shoulder. “There, there,” he tried.

“Thanks, but I don’t actually drink anymore, but, thanks.”

“I’m just going to come right out and say it, because it’s on my mind...”

“Yeah?” Tony encouraged.

“Is someone going to try to kill me? I mean, will they try again, and this time, more intentionally? Should you even be here?”

Tony swiveled on his chair to face Stephen more head on.

“I used every available precaution available to me legally – and illegally – to ensure I arrived here without a trace.”

“Right,” Stephen said doubtfully. “You just tell me about how Pepper was killed, but now everything’s fine, other than the two attempts on your life in recent months. And the fact one of those attempts could have killed me.”

He regretted it as soon as he said it, seeing Tony shrink down in himself as the words hit home. That didn’t mean it shouldn’t have been said though.

“I needed, no, _wanted_ to explain why I can’t be around you anymore. I need to stop visiting the hospital for the same reason. Which is a shame, the therapy robotics course seems to really be working, but it’s just too dangerous.” Tony rubbed his eyes with his hands, sounding fraught.

“You know I pulled that out of my ass after Peter’s parents died?” Tony eventually continued. “The theory, anyway. I ended up going back to get some qualifications to be sure I wasn’t screwing things up, but it really helped him. I just thought, hey, now I’m going to have some more time, why not expand the program?”

Stephen picked up his glass and downed the last of the vodka, coughing slightly as he did. He rubbed his chest. “And you couldn’t have just told me about the danger before? In the hospital room maybe, before you walked out and never got in touch again?” Stephen wasn’t really in the mood to hear about the robotics therapy, not not anyway.

“Nope. Room was being watched – and in my defense, I’m here now, so...”

“And the tower? That’s bugged?”

“Definitely parts of the tower. Not even safe in my own home right now. Some of the trackers even JARVIS didn’t pick up at first, which worries me more than anything. JARVIS runs everything in my life, if he’s not able to detect threats, it means what we’re dealing with is really bad. Even Obie’s rattled, and it takes a lot to worry him.”

He was being deadly serious, and Stephen wasn’t sure how to deal with this. Things like weapons of mass destruction, assassination attempts, people disappearing to be presumed dead, things like this didn’t happen in the controlled, safe world of Stephen Strange.

“You were still a bastard,” Stephen said plainly, not quite ready to let Tony off the hook.

“I know,” Tony nodded. “You’ve been,” he sighed, “so great. I’m sad things just aren’t going to be what I hoped.”

Stephen nodded in agreement. “It does rather suck. I enjoyed working with you on the artificial touch project.”

“We worked nicely together,” Tony smiled. “It’s a shame we won’t get a chance to work on any of the other things we discussed.”

Stephen realized he still had the photo of Pepper in his hand and moved to hand it back to Tony. Tony took it back and cradled it. Tony looked down at it with such adoration that Stephen’s heart twinged for the other man.

“You loved her.”

“Yes,” Tony agreed readily. “She was my best friend.”

“How long were you together?”

“Never,” Tony shook his head. “I mean, not like, well _that_. She meant the world to me though. And some asshole just... removed her,” he finished with some distaste. “If it was even related to the weapons stuff. That’s part of it really, I’ll never get to know. Never get closure. Maybe it wasn’t murder. I’ll literally never get to know.”

Stephen swallowed. “I...”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know what to say. This is all a little above my pay grade.” He was at a loss for words, and he hated it.

“Look, I didn’t come here to tell you this to put you in more danger. I’m just trying to tell you to stay away, for your own good. I like you, Stephen. I don’t want what happened to Pepper to happen to you. I know I won’t survive losing someone else the way I lost Pepper. I need to play this safe. I thought if I cut things off, made you hurt, you’d stay away. But apparently not.”

“What about the others at the tower?” Stephen prompted. “If I’m in trouble, don’t you think it’s worse for them?”

“I’m keeping a close eye on things. I’ve been trying to convince them to move away ever since Christine brought me these photos. But May said if they move out now, whoever is behind it all will realize I know, and then who knows what will happen. I’ve set Obie’s house security up personally to try to keep him safe. It’s like a fort over there now. The tower is a little harder since part of it is public, but I’m doing all I can. They’re my family, I need to keep them safe.”

Stephen felt unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with the vodka, at least, it wasn’t everything to do with the vodka.

“Shit,” he finally concluded, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I’m close to fixing this as much as I can,” Tony assured him. “But in the meantime, it isn’t safe for me to be at the hospital in case whoever is trying to kill me ups their attempts. I need to shut everything down and destroy the key files for the weapons. Rhodey and I have been tracing...” he trailed off. “It’s dull,” Tony concluded. “I am trying to fix everything as best I can, as safely as I can.”

“There’s really nothing I can do, is there?”

“No,” Tony agreed, looking at Stephen sadly again. “I’m sorry for ever getting you caught up in this mess. You deserved better than this. I’m too dangerous to be around, and I can’t just expect you to wait around at a distance while I try to sort my life out, not when it could take years.”

“I just wanted my parking space back,” Stephen sighed.

“You can have it,” Tony chuckled sadly.

Stephen found himself admiring Tony’s laughter lines, they suited him well. Something about the lighting in the kitchen seemed to highlight every line so perfectly.

“And your car,” Stephen added. “I was serious about that.”

“It’ll be with you in the morning,” Tony replied solemnly. “Or, in the least, very soon. I don’t know how long it takes to sort paperwork out for that, if I’m being honest.”

“Honest is good,” Stephen said smoothly.

He’d leaned forwards without meaning to do so consciously.

“I’d really like to kiss you again, if I’m being honest,” Stephen let slip out. It was the vodka, the loneliness, the want, the need, the thirst, the hunger, the fact this could be the last time he ever saw Tony Stark.

Tony’s lips on his soon shut up his annoying inner voice that kept questioning if this was a good idea.

They undressed in the low light of the sitting room, Tony’s fingers trailing delicately over Stephen’s new scars. Stephen’s hands retraced Tony’s scars, feeling more reverence towards them now he knew their full story.

They dropped down onto the couch when they were both fully naked, kissing like they needed it to breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” Tony whispered into Stephen’s neck as he leaned in to kiss another mark. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Stephen leaned back to look Tony directly in the eyes. “Are you saying my scars don’t make me more distinguished?” Stephen challenged.

Tony huffed a laugh, “You make you distinguished,” he responded lamely, before dragging Stephen in for more kisses.

They ground their bodies together, a whirlwind of passion, exhaustion, fear, and caring blending together.

Stephen nibbled along Tony’s collar bone and then leaned up to kiss behind his ear, while Tony reached around to squeeze Stephen’s scar-free right buttocks.

“Do you...” Tony hissed happily as Stephen kissed a sensitive little area on Tony’s neck. “Do you want to fuck? Once more to say goodbye?”

Stephen sat back, panting, head a little dizzy, cock a lot hard. “Yes,” he concluded very quickly, leading Tony through to his master bedroom.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea, but Stephen felt like he needed this, and that was enough to encourage him on. The walk over to his bedroom did have the unintended side effect of allowing Stephen’s brain to clear partially from the heady, Tony-is-sexy induced fog for a moment, but the same fog descended again at about the point Tony flopped onto Stephen’s bed and started stroking his own silky, hard cock.

“You know this should be the last time between us,” Tony told Stephen sadly, but firmly. He tipped his head back against the pillows and moaned as he gripped his shaft a little tighter, rubbing a thumb against his leaking end. “I don’t want to lead you on.”

Stephen hesitated for only the briefest moment before he continued on his journey into his bedside table for supplies. “I know,” Stephen agreed after a heavy pause. “It’s for the best this is the last time.” But Stephen knew he needed this, knew he needed this one last time to say goodbye properly.

Later, after enough foreplay that Stephen thought he was going to end things early a few times already, Stephen sunk down into Tony. Tony let out a shallow, quiet moan. Stephen felt tears unexpectedly pooling in his eyes.

“You’re okay?” Stephen checked, stilling himself for a moment. He blinked furiously, trying to dissipate the tears.

“Yeah,” Tony replied, not all that convincingly.

Stephen stayed still a moment longer, breathing in the moment, the sensations, the heat, the tight bliss of Tony all around him. He leaned in and kissed Tony some more, placing his sweet, blissful kisses all over Tony’s shoulders and neck.

“Okay, okay, I’m good,” Tony breathed. “I’m good, fuck me,” he demanded. “Fuck me, please? Let me feel you, let me remember this, please? Please. Please...”

Stephen slid in and out, angling his hips as best he could to try and stimulate Tony’s prostate. Sweat was forming on his chest as they worked, both of them breathing erratically as Stephen moved, always doing his best to kiss Tony as he went.

There was something so beautiful in the act, so beautiful and yet so emotionally painful that Stephen could taste it. He felt the grief again, there haunting him with the idea of what they _could_ have been. His mind swirled with upset as well as the utter delight and thrill that was the pleasure of burying himself deep inside Tony, of knowing Tony _trusted_ him so much that he was allowed to do this.

None of that really negated the fact Stephen knew the truth. This was it, this was their final time together. Twice was better than nothing though, wasn’t it? Stephen sure hoped so, hoped so much that it was the wish on the forefront of his mind as he came.

He knew that he’d always want more of this, want more closeness with Tony, wanted to learn more, laugh more, be _loved_ more by Tony.

The pleasure, the pain, the sorrow, the joy. It was all enough to make anyone feel a bit crazy.

Stephen pulled out carefully and discarded the condom on his bedroom floor. Tony hadn’t come yet though and Stephen wasn’t making the same mistake twice. He turned them both around so that Tony was laid with his back against the bed, and then Stephen moved himself down the bed so he could take Tony into his mouth.

Stephen pulled off for a moment to look up at him. “This is okay?”

“Guh, yes,” Tony added agreeably. “Definitely yes,” he sighed happily, head tilting back deeper into the soft pillows, hips rolling gently. He ran his fingers through Stephen’s hair and patted his head in a manner Stephen found strangely relaxing.

Stephen went back to his task of mapping out Tony’s cock with his tongue and lips. He was so lost in his task he didn’t notice Tony was coming until he had half of his warm, fresh load dripping down his chin.

“I did try to tell you,” Tony panted.

Stephen laughed, “I was a little, ahem, distracted.”

“You’re good at that,” Tony said with a grin on his face.

Stephen wiped the come off his chin and went to stand up so he could go wash off, but Tony got there first and pulled him down onto the bed for some long, deep scorching kisses. He licked and kissed himself off Stephen’s face, doing an admirable clean up job.

Before long, they were lying side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling, their naked bodies pressed to each other. All the sheets had been kicked off the bed at some point, but neither of them cared. Their heads were so close they were resting on the same pillow.

“I have to go,” Tony whispered, mouth close to Stephen’s ear. “I have to go before I fall asleep here and,” he stopped, voice trembling slightly. “The longer I stay, the harder this gets.”

Stephen sighed, “I know,” he whispered back, sitting up against the headboard. “I do know.”

Tony levered himself up and Stephen followed him through to the living area, helping Tony find the clothing they’d discarded earlier. He at least got a great view of Tony redressing for his efforts. Only Tony Stark could make redressing look so sinfully sexy. Stripteases knew nothing of the appeal of Tony Stark redressing.

Stephen’s eyes felt itchy, and his voice was hoarse. There was no point in crying and screaming. No amount of acting out was going to fix this situation.

“Thank you,” Tony said simply, kissing Stephen once more on the lips as they stood at Stephen’s apartment door.

Stephen’s brain seemed to shut down for a brief moment at that. “Be safe,” he finally got out, words failing him. There was too much to say and no way to say it. This was it. Stephen knew deep down that this, here and now, this was the end of him and Tony Stark. The end of whatever it was they’d been slowly working their way towards.

“You too,” Tony smiled, leaning in to place one last, blissful kiss to Stephen’s cheek. Tony slipped through the door and disappeared into the big, wide world again, and out of Stephen’s life forever.

In the morning, the only reminder that Tony had ever even been there that night was the fact the pillows on the other side of Stephen’s bed were rumpled, and the remnants of his cologne.

It would be fine, Stephen told himself. He’d be fine. Who needed Tony Stark anyway? Who needed love and hope? Stephen had a parking space after all, and that would just have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, l hope you enjoyed "These Empty Spaces". Stephen got his parking space back, and that was all he really wanted, so we're good! 
> 
> Oh... apparently that's not the end of the fic, huh. Huh. Apparently we have another six chapters left? Huh. 
> 
> Okay, I guess see you next week then? ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen's Not Heartbroken, okay? These are the actions of someone who is Completely Fine.

The crowd was applauding him, and Stephen gave into the absurdity of the moment by bowing in response. Here, among his peers, he was a hero, an almost rock-star of mythical proportions. They’d certainly seemed to enjoy the talk he’d just given. It was a soothing balm to his ego in the wake of Tony.

In the wake of Tony what, though? Leaving? Dumping him? Absconding? No word really worked. There had never been a term for what happened. It was the sort of situation that required a phrase. “Dumped-for-his-own-safety”, sort of worked. Let down for noble reasons, perhaps? It was also hard to harbor bad feelings towards Tony when there was a clear threat to life involved. A threat that meant Stephen wasn’t sure if he was ever going to be ready to get involved in the mess that was Tony’s life.

Still, he’d had many wandering thoughts and dreams of the time they’d spent together. A certain longing still pulled on Stephen’s heart, and he didn’t enjoy it. Christine had said he’d almost seemed forlorn recently. He hadn’t seen Tony in person since that last night they’d shared together at the start of October.

The invitation to speak at the 26th American Congress for the Society of Neurosurgery conference in Washington had been surprisingly welcomed to Stephen. It was probably for his own good that he got out of New York for a while to try and work his way out of the tepid rut he’d been stuck in since Tony left. He was back to his comfort zone at the conference. Back to being in charge of his own destiny. If he wasn’t going to spend more time with Tony, he was going to get back to what he did best and work. He was going to put all that energy he’d been filtering into wondering about Tony and helping Tony into his own work.

Stephen took the opportunity to take another little bow on stage, smiling easily at them all. He went down the steps from the stage and back to his assigned seat on the front row of the audience.

“Wonderfully put,” the man to Stephen’s right said in a hushed tone, as the next presenter got herself situated at the podium in front of them. “I look forward to the round-table later, the program said you’re participating?”

“Yes,” Stephen confirmed, wondering why this man was only appearing on the final day of the four-day surgical conference, and in a seat at the front. He sounded faintly French, but Stephen couldn’t bring to mind any French doctors that might have been there.

“I’m Gabe,” he said, offering his hand to Stephen.

“Stephen.”

“Strange, I know,” Gabe smiled. “Perhaps a drink later? Talk me through some more of your work?”

Stephen frowned a little, but turned to pay attention to the next speaker who looked ready to start. This Gabe hadn’t asked any questions at the end of the presentation, when he was meant to. So, unless he had just been too shy, that meant this was potentially not entirely work related... “Yes,” he whispered hurriedly, before he lost his nerve. Gabe was attractive and clearly interested in the topic of the conference. If Stephen had to make a stupid rebound decision, this seemed like a fair one to him.

“Excellent!” Gabe said, perhaps a little too loudly, but also turned to give full attention to the next speaker.

Stephen clenched his hands and spent the remainder of the day’s talks wondering if he hadn’t just made a monumentally stupid mistake.

***

“So,” Gabe explained, at 9pm that night, in the conference hotel’s bar, “by the time I’d got to the airport, and after all that drama crazy! I’d missed my flight. They couldn’t put me on one until yesterday, but the jetlag meant I woke up and the next thing I know I’ve missed almost all the conference. All this way and I miss it.”

The more he drank, the stronger his French accent got. Stephen was finding himself oddly endeared.

Gabe wasn’t a doctor. He was a late-in-life medical student, who it turned out did have a genuine interest in Stephen’s work. It was very ego-affirming, and Stephen was lapping up the attention. This was the way to heal a broken heart, he’d already decided.

“You missed some excellent talks, but also some awful ones, so it all balances out,” Stephen commented.

Gabe laughed, “Oui, but so long as I saw your talk, I knew it would all be well.”

He had rather beautiful eyes, Stephen thought. Dark brown with small flecks of yellow.

There was opportunity here and the promise of something.

“I leave Monday morning to go back to New York,” Stephen spelled out plainly. It was Friday night now, but he’d given himself the weekend to look around. He didn’t want Gabe to think anything more was being promised.

“I leave Sunday night to go back to Paris,” Gabe offered up.

“Back to the cat who nearly broke your leg and hid your passport in her kitty-litter tray?” Stephen joked.

Gabe laughed, “It sounds funnier now than when you’re rushing for a plane.”

Stephen drummed his fingers over his nearly empty glass. He could order another drink, could go back to the surprisingly pleasant conversation they’d been having earlier about reconstructive techniques, or…

He drummed his fingers over the glass some more, hesitant, and he couldn’t gasp why.

“Would you like to come see my room?” Gabe asked before Stephen could pull together a conclusion on how he felt. “You should get to celebrate your excellent talks today. You made that round-table at the end worth listening to, you know.”

Gabe had very tempting lips.

Stephen picked up his glass and drank up the last dregs of his whiskey.

“Yes. Celebrating would be very nice.” He stood up rubbed dry his right hand on his pants – the condensation from the glass having left his hand damp.

“Though of course, you realize Dr. Strange, since we are both staying at this hotel, our rooms probably look identical?”

Stephen shrugged. “Then, let us play spot the difference. I’m very good at that game,” he quipped. Gabe smiled broadly in reply.

Mentally Stephen was preparing a speech in his head. Something along the lines of ‘We do this once and only once, and I mean that’. He felt pretty certain Gabe felt the same.

He followed Gabe’s lead out of the hotel bar they were in and into the next seating area, heading towards the bank of elevators. There was an odd hush over the seating area though that caught Stephen’s attention. Many of the patrons were turned to face the TVs on the walls around them.

 _BREAKING NEWS!_ screamed the banner running along the bottom of the large TV.

Stephen stumbled a moment and stopped to read.

“That is Tony Stark?” Gabe asked Stephen, looking at the TV.

“Yes,” Stephen gulped.

_STARK ENTERPRISES WITHDRAWS FROM WEAPONS MANUFACTURING_

the next block of text read.

Tony stepped up to a lectern not too-unlike the one Stephen had himself been talking at earlier that day. Even without the sound on, Stephen could almost hear the flash of the cameras as it seemed like a million photos of Tony were being taken. Tony was dressed in an extremely well-tailored light-gray suit, with huge aviator-style sunglasses hiding so much of his face.

“This way,” Gabe prompted, breaking Stephen from his reverie.

Stephen took a deep breath and followed Gabe to the elevator.

Tony had finally done it. He’d made his decision to stop weapons production public. That was... huge.

Stephen couldn’t help it, by the time they’d made it to Gabe’s hotel door, there was already a sickening hope building inside of him. A hope that had nothing to do with Gabe, and everything to do with Tony. The idea blooming inside of him that perhaps, maybe, just maybe, once things had calmed down for Tony again, he might be safer.

But just because Tony had officially announced the end of the weapons production, that didn’t mean he’d be instantly free of all the other messes in his life, in fact, it probably meant the complete opposite if anything.

Here Stephen was, in a hotel hundreds of miles away, following a guy he just met up to his hotel room with the goal of sex, while Tony was battling for a better future for himself.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said to Gabe, as they got to his door. “You must excuse me. Something has come up.”

“You’re not feeling well?” Gabe asked in confusion.

“No, I’m not, I’m afraid. Dinner must not have agreed with me,” Stephen lied, rubbing his stomach.

“Ah, that is unfortunate,” Gabe said gently.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you,” Stephen said earnestly. “Good luck in your future work.”

Without offering a handshake, or waiting for much of a response, Stephen strode off to his room. He needed silence. He needed to watch the whole press conference and find out exactly what Tony had said. He needed to get a grip.

Obsessing over things was sort of his forte, though. He couldn’t get Tony’s face out of his mind, couldn’t get the magnitude of what had happened tonight to leave his thoughts alone. Stephen had never learned how not to obsess over things. It was a trait that had preceded the unfortunate death of his sister, Donna, and had also just gotten worse since then. He wasn’t going to start taking it easy any time soon, that was for certain.

It felt like a dam had broken in Stephen’s mind and suddenly he had clarity on why he’d been so upset and acting out lately. He’d been going about his life like a crazy man, obsessing over the fact he’d found someone he wanted to be with, and then fate had acted to tell him no, to tell him that was a terrible idea. And stupidly, he’d just accepted it as a done deal.

Fuck that.

If Tony could be brave enough to cut ties with the military and change his life around, Stephen Strange could be brave enough to believe that they could be something more together. That they might even have a future.

Tony could try and kick Stephen out of his life, but that didn’t mean Stephen had to take it lying down. He just had to find a way to make Tony see it was stupid to put _them_ on hold. For all either of them could know, one of them might be hit by a bus the next day and then all this misery and moping would be nothing but a waste. Stephen was going to find a way to make Tony see sense.

It was just unfortunate there was no one around to make Stephen see sense.

Stephen spent the remainder of the evening feverishly coming up with a plan of action. There was no way he was ever going to be able to solve the problems with the weapons, but there was perhaps one area of this whole mystery Stephen might be able to shed some light on. He just had to dig in the right spot – perhaps even literally.

***

Stephen hated opera.

He’d lie a thousand times and say he loved it before revealing the truth.The legroom was too small for his tall stature, and there were always too many people around bored because they had no idea what was going on.

All of him would rather be at home, watching cartoons, and eating cereal straight out of the box than watching opera. However, Christine had told him that it was _wrong,_ and that he was _depressed,_ and that she was _there for him_ with regards to whatever was going on that he didn’t want to share. But she was also insistent that he should get out of his apartment now and again for something other than work. Little did she know, he’d turned himself into a virtual hermit as he’d been spending his hours researching Tony’s life.

The love and support from his friend was too much to take after a while though. Something had to be done. So Stephen offered to take her to the opera as a way of communicating to Christine that he was _absolutely fine_. They could go together and she’d see just how very, very fine he was. He was hoping she might leave him alone to work on his plan if she was placated.

Something about shaving, putting on nice clothes, and the hum of the crowd around him as everyone settled down, waiting for the show to start, did somehow ring true with him that maybe he had been a little down lately. He definitely should have taken up Gabe’s invitation at the conference while he’d still had the opportunity.

Stephen managed to stay awake during the whole opera – a brag Christine informed him after the performance was not really lordable or something to be proud of.

It had been a month since the conference. A month in which Stephen worked on the one small area he’d determined he might be able to solve: the disappearance of one Pepper Potts. He knew for a fact he’d seen her photo somewhere before, and perhaps that was why he was so stuck on her. He’d looked her up on Google, in archives, in medical records, and couldn’t get anywhere to find out what could have happened by her. Though, if he’d believed a few of the conspiracy-theory blogs he’d read, she’d been abducted by aliens and was currently the queen of planet Alpha-Gamma 2322.

Just as he was putting Christine in a taxi outside the theater to get her home after the production, Stephen spotted his prey.

Stephen hated the opera, but his target, it turned out, was a big fan.

By total coincidence, the journalist Christine Everhart just so happened to be at the same opera Stephen was attending that evening.

Well, almost by coincidence.

Or rather, not at all by coincidence.

Stephen had deduced Everhart was likely to be there, due to the inclusion of her sister in the cast. Then it was really only a case of working out which section she’d be in, and subsequently using his connections to find someone who also had tickets in the family and friends section, then with not too much manipulation, he managed to get himself into the section. Which meant he’d be able to leave from the same entrance as her, put the other Christine into a taxi and, with any luck, get some of the information he’d been sorely missing in this whole puzzle.

In another life, Stephen thought he probably would have made an excellent detective.

He shouldn’t talk to her. He should abandon his plan and not violate what he’d promised Tony by getting involved in Stark Industries-related affairs. Because if he did talk to her, that would be throwing himself back into the grease-fire that was Tony’s complicated life. And Stephen did not want complicated. Did not need complicated. Was not aiming for complicated.

“Christine Everhart,” Stephen greeted her. “I’m Doctor Stephen Strange,” he held out a hand for her to shake.

She had him pegged in one glance.

“What are you after?”

Stephen was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“You, what are you after? Why do I recognize you?” she asked, tilting her head up.

The other theater goers were having to move around the two of them, as they stood still just outside Exit 4, accidentally parting and annoying the crowd who were still coming out of the theater themselves.

“Stark?” she questioned. “You were with him. At that charity dinner? And the robotics launch after that?”

“Yes,” he confessed, as if she didn’t remember exactly who he was.

“What are you after?” she stressed again.

“I need to talk to you.”

“No,” she huffed, turning towards to face away from him and starting to walk away. “I have nothing to say.”

“I have something to say,” he tried, his long legs making it easy to keep up with her.

The street was crowded with taxis as people fought in a polite fashion for the cars. The cold November air was crisp, and Stephen’s heart rate was up with the anticipation of it all. He could almost taste the answers to his quandary.

“Look, you don’t know what you’re getting into there,” she warned him.

“Maybe I want to get involved. I want to know.”

“You really, truly don’t. I don’t even really want to be involved, but it’s too late for me now.”

Their breath turned to white whispers in the air as they breathed. The city around them was so alive, moving and hurried.

“Please,” Stephen begged. “I just want to understand, and Tony won’t tell me. I want to know how much trouble I’m in for just knowing what I do know.”

That gave her pause, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

She studied him silently. “Let’s go to the diner around the corner, okay? I’m not standing out here having this talk. You get,” she looked at her phone, “twenty minutes of my time, and then I need to be back for the after party, got it?”

“Got it,” he agreed.

“And you’re paying!”

***

“I don’t know everything,” Christine Everhart admitted.

“You definitely know more than most.” It wasn’t flattery if it was true, and Stephen suspected it was. Everhart’s reputation as a dogged journalist was very respectable. She also seemed to always know what was going on at Stark Industries moments before anyone else did, which made Stephen suspect certain arrangements.

Stephen pushed a cup of hot coffee towards her. She wrapped her gloved-hands around it for the warmth. He took off his heavy coat and hung it on the back of the chair. It helped him feel a little less claustrophobic.

“It’s dangerous, the whole thing is dangerous.” She shook her head, tutting a little at either him or herself, Stephen wasn’t quite sure which.

“The weapons, black-market stuff…” Stephen prompted.

“So he told you about that?”

“A little.”

She leveled her gaze up at him and Stephen wasn’t going to back down.

“You know,” she said, suddenly casual, blowing on the top of her coffee and taking the smallest of sips. “He promised me exclusivity on the release about shutting down manufacturing, and then went and did _that_ press conference. Lying bastard.”

But Stephen didn’t really care about the weapons. That was beyond him, that was something he couldn’t have a hope to change. There was just one thing on his mind he wanted solving. Something he suspected would unlock the mystery that was Tony Stark.

“Look, I’ll cut to the chase here: What do you know about Pepper Potts’ disappearance?” If he could just explain this, maybe it might even bring Tony some peace, and from there a change in attitude about potential relations. Who knew. And if it didn’t, well, it would serve as one last _I’m Better Than You_ , for finding out information Tony hadn’t been able to.

“Officially? Nothing more than the police records say.”

“Unofficially?”

“She was murdered, quite clearly. Probably by someone she knew, given the level of security she used to have. The fact that there wasn’t a trace of her movements that day is more suspicious than anything else. She and Stark were in love, but that wasn’t why she got killed. She knew too much, found out _something_. I just never found out exactly what.”

It made sense, Stephen thought. It was more or less what he’d assumed. He took a sip of his own coffee, grimacing at the taste of burnt beans.

“Frustrates you, doesn’t it? Not knowing something?” he challenged her.

“You’re one to talk. Tracking me down to ask me about a woman who has been dead for years? That’s odd, Doctor. Maybe I should be making notes on you. A whole series of articles about the un-hinged doctor who seduced Tony Stark for potentially nefarious reasons.”

“Seduced?” he raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”

“You do,” she smiled. “You have the look of someone who knows what Tony’s like in bed. And I notice you didn’t dispute ‘nefarious’.”

Stephen hated to admit it, but he liked Christine Everhart. She was on the ball, she was gorgeous, she was fast. In another universe, at another time, he’d be asking her out for dinner right about now. Which would have been funny because– _Ah_.

“You slept with him too,” Stephen said, the words coming as if from nowhere straight to the tip of his tongue. “Huh.” He took a longer sip on the still disgusting coffee.

“It was years ago, and not a big deal,” she admitted. “We went out for maybe a week – if you could even call it that – before that godfather of his soon made sure we didn’t get a second together. All because apparently _I_ made him miss some big trip for a weapons demonstration.”

Her words from the night of the tech release party came back to Stephen suddenly, about how she didn’t trust Obadiah Stane. If he’d been the reason for Tony and her splitting up, it probably explained her bias, Stephen started to piece together.

“But look,” Christine continued, “let me square with you,” she took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “I want Tony Stark to be a force for good in this world. I don’t really care what other people might say, that’s what I want. The more I’ve gotten to know him, the more I realized what he can do, if he just tried to.”

It was on the front of Stephen’s mind to rebuff her claim. She wanted so much more than that, clearly. She wanted acclaim and respect at a minimum, but, Stephen considered, there was truth to this. “So that’s why you were on his case about stopping the weapons manufacturing.”

She nodded. “There’s more, like you said, going on there,” she looked around and lowered her voice, “but we can’t discuss that.”

“Nor do I wish to,” Stephen admitted remembering the vague outlines Tony had filled him in on.

“You just want to know about Pepper Potts?”

“It clearly hurts him he never got closure there. Closure can help.” Like finally finding out why a patient was ill, or why they’d died. Stephen understood closure.

He could read her face. The look that said, maybe she would help, but what was in it for her?

“I can do some digging around, but I can’t imagine you’re in a position to find out more than the police did, or more than Stark himself knows,” she eventually offered.

Stephen lowered his voice to say, “But you know it has to link into the whole missing weapons thing, doesn’t that make you curious?”

“Yes, but I’d rather be curious than dead.”

“Why is it either or?” he teased.

She was seething as she leaned as far across the table as she could, getting into his face, words curt and hissed.

“This is international arms dealing we’re talking about here! Not a gossip column. No one was killing Potts for her impressive art collection or style tips. Take this serious, you stupid fuck!” She sat back down in her seat as if nothing had happened, tapping her nails on the mug.

His heart pounded, she looked furious. The scars on his body from the still-not-too-distant-past explosion hurt as if to remind him of the very real consequences of what was going on. He took a deep, calming breath and then said with as much arrogance as he could muster:

“How do you know? The art world can be pretty cutthroat.”

_Art collection… Potts… Art collection…_

They were both startled and turned sharply towards the diner door as a few more patrons came in. One younger woman with a bright yellow feather boa around her neck had clearly been enjoying herself thoroughly during the evening. Her companion led her to a booth and sat her down, presumably before she fell down.

_Huh._

“I think I know where to look next,” Stephen declared, standing and putting back on the heavy-winter coat he’d taken off. “How do I contact you if I need to talk to you?” he asked as he buttoned it up.

“You don’t,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll contact you when or if I discover something. It isn’t like you’re difficult to find, _Doctor._ ”

She had a point, he conceded.

Just as they left the diner, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him close. For a heartbeat Stephen thought maybe she meant to kiss him, given how close she’d drawn him in.

“Do you even understand what’s going to happen now Stark’s not making weapons anymore? He’s the goose that laid the golden egg, and for golden-egg collectors, he’s all dried up. If he has no more use to them, they’ll kill him too, and probably anyone close to him. That’s why there've been all these incidents surrounding him lately. From what I’ve heard, you’ve already been dragged into all of that enough.”

Stephen’s bottom lip trembled a second as the image washed through his mind.

Tony, Happy, probably Nurse May… and the kid, all dead.

He didn’t want to tell her _that’s impossible_. Didn’t want to argue that the system would save them all. Because accidents didn’t always happen accidentally. Because when it came to Tony Stark, everything possible and impossible seemed… possible. His shoulder hurt with the memory of the shrapnel from that exploding car.

“Do I seem to you like a man with much to lose?” he quipped, knees feeling oddly shaky.

“Hums, we’ll see.”

She turned about and walked back in the direction of the theater.

Stephen stood on the sidewalk outside the diner for another 10 minutes gathering himself together, questioning if he was really about to do this. He wished briefly he could be back in Washington, at the conference, enjoying the fruits of his hard-earned intellectual and surgical labor. But he wasn’t, and truly, deep down, nor did he wish to be anywhere but here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the lateness of this chapter. It was a total nightmare to edit! It was easily the hardest of all the chapters to write originally and caused me writer's block for a good few months, ahhh. It just needed a lot more work than the rest had for me to be somewhat happy. This is also the big benefit of having written the whole fic first before posting, so you had a one-week delay instead of the original 5 months when I was writing. 
> 
> But phew! All done now. Anyone feeling a little more hopeful about Stephen and Tony's future? Maybe? Stephen does keep being warned about things and yet, he keeps doing them. He, is, um. Yeah... 
> 
> If you've had enough AU for now and fancy something much funnier, fluffier, and with more Cloak in it, I recommend checking out the [Of Mischief and Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752400/) series by [sarcasticfirefighter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfirefighter/pseuds/sarcasticfirefighter/). It's very lovely <3
> 
> Thanks for reading! See you again really soon.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen does some digging. Hopefully he'll stop before he hits the Earth's core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I was so late with the last two chapters, and because I'm getting keen to finish this! Here's a new chapter, a little ahead of schedule :)

“FWEEET FWEET FWEEET!”

Stephen found he couldn’t hide his grimace at the parrot perched on the back of his chair twittering into his ear.

“Aw, Amy remembers you!”

Felicia was mocking him, he was sure. But she looked at the bird with such doting eyes it was difficult to call her on it.

The cup of green tea Felicia had insisted making for him sat on her glossy, wooden coffee table, cooling and untouched.

“Thank you for agreeing to have me over,” he added quickly. His hands were tightly clenched together, back ramrod straight.

“You sounded concerned on the phone,” Felicia frowned, holding her hand out for Amy who hopped up straight away and walked her way up Felicia’s arm to play with the woman’s golden, dangling earrings. “Which, I confess, made me concerned.”

She sat down in the armchair facing the one Stephen himself had been shown to.

Stephen was thrown for a moment. He puzzled over what she’d have to be worried about in this situation, when suddenly it hit him.

“No! Nothing like, well, _that._ This isn’t that kind of ‘I need to find everyone I’ve slept with and tell them’ conversation, I promise.”

Felicia’s demeanor loosened a smidgen and she smiled. “Oh, thank god. I was just wondering how I was going to explain that to Brain. Not that I’d have anything to explain to him, that was, we were not together then, after all… but good.

“So what are we meeting about? Not that I’m not open to friendship with you, Stephen, but I haven’t heard from you in months.”

He cast his gaze around the room, but his eyes kept coming back to the paintings on the walls and were drawn especially to the selection of photographs Felicia had up on display.

“That,” he said pointing at the photographs. “You told me before, at the charity fundraiser we went to, that you know Tony Stark.”

Felicia was looking at him darkly again, softly stroking Amy’s yellow and green feathers. “I saw photos of the two of you at that biotech press release event he did, and heard a few more things. I don’t think you need my help getting to know him, not anymore.”

Her tone was stony and Stephen was cringing inside. He just kept messing things up with Felicia. She’d deserved better than to come into contact with him.

“Not him, Pepper Potts. That’s who I want to know about.”

“She’s dead, Stephen. If Tony Stark isn’t interested in you, it isn’t because of Pepper, okay?” She sounded disgusted. “She was my friend, and she’s dead, and,” before Stephen knew what was happening, Felicia was crying. “She was an incredible person. How dare you turn up at my home, completely out of the blue, and try to push all my buttons? I don’t know what I ever saw in you.”

Amy was rubbing her little head against Felicia’s face.

“I swear on my life that I’m not here to try and upset you. I’m trying to find out what happened to Pepper to _help_ Tony.”

“We don’t know, and might never know, what happened to her. She just vanished one day.”

Felicia’s eyes were brimming with tears, fury, and so much passion.

“What can you tell me about her? I just want to understand. And last night, I was in this diner and there was this girl with a feather boa,” the memories of his talk with Christine the night before were swarming through his mind, muddling his emotions. “It made me think of you, of Amy. Suddenly I remembered that I’d seen Pepper’s face in your photos when I picked you up that time.”

“That was _months_ ago!” she gasped.

“Photographic memory,” he tapped his temple. “My curse, and my joy. And then I recalled you saying you knew Tony, and it just clicked into place exactly how you must have known him. Your art, Pepper was a collector?”

Felicia held one hand up. “No, wait, wait,” she objected. “Why do you suddenly care about finding a woman who has been missing for the last five years? And why do you think you’ll do a better job of it than the police?”

Stephen didn’t know. He didn’t have an answer that made sense, just a feeling of hopelessness that was forcing him to consider every avenue. He was out of logical jumps to get to a conclusion. His only hope now lay in tenuous guesses.

“I think I’m in love with Tony Stark. Or at least, falling in love.”

“You fall in love easily, huh?” she said sardonically, not at all impressed. “You strike me as the type, Stephen. You find someone who will give you ten minutes of their attention, and then refuse to let go of them for the next ten years. Until ultimately, you get bored.”

Stephen cringed and rubbed at his eyes “Yes,” he agreed with a roll of his eyes. “Perhaps.”

She was clearly hurting at having Pepper brought up, and Stephen didn’t want to needle her further by trying to argue this point. It wasn’t quite true, though. He’d always kind of thought of himself as a lone wolf. But then he’d met Christine Palmer and history had played out as it had.

Stephen had never had that many people in his life. So the few he did have, he cherished fiercely, perhaps even in a way that looked obsessive to outsiders. He never got bored of them though – Felicia had that part wrong. Only to himself did he ever admit that he always ended up leaving them before they could leave him. All so that he could spare himself that pain of having someone just to lose them.

“There’s a lot of things going on right now in Tony’s life that I can’t even begin to understand, but I do know he misses Pepper. I just thought, if I could come to understand what happened, perhaps I’d be able to… get closer to him.” He’d been pulling the words out of his ass as he spoke, but the more he talked, the more true the sentiment actually felt.

Felicia stood up and walked over to a large abstract painting mounted pride of place in the apartment. Stephen stood and went to join her.

“Pepper bought this from me about 15 years ago. I was about to go broke, but I didn’t want to sell it because it was,” she smiled, “somehow meaningful to me? Even though I was a broke, starving artist. She offered way over the odds for it, said it was for her asshole boss who ‘can definitely afford it’. I told her no again. She puts another zero on the check and at that point I couldn’t refuse. So I sold her the painting.”

Stephen had heard Felicia was a very renowned artist across a few mediums. He wouldn’t have personally ever gone for the painting though, even if she’d offered him money to take it off her hands.

“Why did Tony want it so badly?”

Felicia laughed. “It fit into his rainbow of paintings he was collecting at the time, or something like that. They both used to say he was collecting, at some point though it really was just Pepper’s collection. A few years later, when I had opened my first gallery, and was really, truly making it, she gave me the painting back as a congratulations gift. It was so stupid really, it’s hardly a great work of art, but it meant so much to me.”

Felicia took a deep, calming breath and turned to face Stephen, looking much more collected now.

“To be honest, Stephen, I can’t tell you much about Pepper Potts’ life, but I can tell you that she was a kind, observant person, with a very picky taste in art. I never really knew much about her working life. She kept that entirely separate, except for when she needed a favor to get early access to a piece she just had to have. It worked to help me along the way though, I can’t deny that. Just having her buy pieces put the value of my work up.”

Felicia looked wistfully up at the washes of oranges, blues, and dabs of green on the large canvas.

“He keeps them all in a specially built, climate-controlled storage facility somewhere in Brooklyn still. I have to send someone over every now and then to check on everything, catalog the collection, and do an inspection.

“You know the funny thing, Stephen? I don’t think Tony’s ever cared about the art. He just enjoyed letting Pepper buy it, like a child in a very expensive candy store, with an unlimited budget. She could have whatever she wanted.”

She was obviously somewhere far away and Stephen felt himself smile at the image her words conjured.

“What do you know about the day she disappeared?” he asked gently.

“Not much, no one ever knew much. She was out for a jog, I think the story went. And then just never heard from again. I helped in the search but…”

Stephen went to put his hand on Felicia’s shoulder to comfort her, but Amy took that moment to let out another “FWAAAAAAK” making him jump back.

“Amy, be nice,” Felicia gently admonished, sniffing a little. “If I could tell you any more, I would. She did a lot of charity work, was well liked by her friends, fairly obsessed with art, but more obsessed with her job than anyone I ever knew. Who knows, maybe it was an accident, maybe it was an assassination attempt by a rival company. I have no idea, and I’ve spent years thinking it over, and over. So yeah, if you think you might be able to magically find some new solution, I’d be happy to hear it.”

The waves of heartbreak coming off Felicia made Stephen feel like he’d probably overstayed his welcome.

All he knew for sure, as he rode the elevator back down to the first floor, was that Tony most definitely wasn’t the only one who could do with a little closure.

***

The singular piece of information Stephen had really garnered from his visit to Felicia was the existence of the art storage facility. The whimsical part of his brain imagined that perhaps Pepper had hidden secret messages in the frames of the paintings, or perhaps in the paintings themselves – that when viewed by the eye of someone who knew what they were looking for, would suddenly reveal The Truth.

It was a silly flight of fancy. Real life didn’t work like that.

Stephen had a few days at the hospital where he felt himself slipping into work almost as an anesthesia for the confusion of his personal life. It was much easier to block out the world around him when he was in an operating room, dealing with life or death at his fingertips.

In the in between though, the moments spent idling at traffic lights on his commute, or while he was eating lunch, or brushing his teeth, the traitorous thoughts did sneak in again. The ones that told him if he just thought about it harder, he’d somehow solve the case of Pepper’s disappearance when no one else could.

An evening spent doing some basic Google searches did reveal that the day Tony had finally declared the end to the weapons manufacturing for the company, also happened to coincide with the date Pepper Potts was officially declared dead. Finding this out only bolstered Stephen, and slowly reignited his need to know.

By the end of the week, Stephen was willingly crawling back down the rabbit hole. He was spending all his evenings trying to track down new leads on the case. He’d even managed to work out where Pepper’s art storage facility had to be, by a process of elimination taking into account property Stark Industries owned, property owned by associated groups, and property Tony owned personally. All of which he’d then cross-referenced with permits of usage in those areas.

With that knowledge in his head, Stephen slept awfully. Tossing and turning in his bed as he tried, begged, his conscious mind to forget the address. Going down there wasn’t going to yield anything and if he had any sense at all, he’d forget it all. He’d call Christine, _his_ Christine, in the morning and arrange to spend his next free day off with her and her family. He’d catch up on his journal reading and reply to inquiries from colleagues and he’d get his life back together again.

***

“Hi Stephen,” Christine answered warmly. “Anabel is very excited to be spending the day with her favorite uncle. We have everything set up for making smores, and there’s hot cocoa ready to go.”

Anabel was just shy of being eight months old. Stephen didn’t know much about children, but he was fairly sure this didn’t add up to her having the ability to miss him.

“I’m sorry to say I won’t be able to attend today,” Stephen started with. He then took the opportunity to employ the fake cough he’d spent the morning working on. “Working at the free clinic has finally landed me with a cold. I need to spend the weekend resting. And I,” he took the opportunity to cough some more. The unintended side effect of the fake cough was that after a while it led to a real coughing fit.

“That’s unfortunate. You do sound terrible,” Christine said with concern. “Do you need me to bring anything over?”

“No, I have everything I need right here. I just need rest and fluid.” _Did_ he sound terrible? That was going to bug him. He hadn’t been trying to make him sound as bad as Christine’s worry made him think he came across as.

“Well, let me know if you do need anything. What about soup? I can bring soup, if you like?”

Stephen panicked mildly. Christine was starting to sound a little suspicious.

“Too kind, Christine, but I’ll be fine. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

“Hums, okay. Well, bye, Stephen.”

“Goodbye, Christine.” That was fine, right? That sounded natural? “Say hello to Anabel and Chris for me,” Stephen added in a rush. Wait, he didn’t normally say that to her, did he? Crap. “Bye!” he shouted with mild panic and ended the call.

Totally natural. Smooth. Flawless. Wow. It was his acting performance of a lifetime.

It was definitely a good thing Christine hadn’t insisted on checking in on him. Most particularly as she would have turned up to his apartment to find him not there, and worse yet, his apartment looking like something out of a detective film. What with the boards, photos, and string, he’d set up in there. He’d given his cleaning service a month’s break from coming over just to ensure the place stayed untouched when he was at work.

Stephen unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of his car. He was weary of leaving the car where he’d illegally parked it. But more pressing was the encroaching realization that he probably should have not driven his brand new, deep green Audi. There was little to no hope he was going to get lucky enough to leave it without finding it either towed or missing a tire. The traffic on his drive over had even been surprisingly good though, as if the world was trying to encourage his stupid behavior. And if the world was going to encourage it, who was he to fight fate?

The warehouse was right there, in all its matte-gray, underwhelming splendor. It surely couldn’t harm just to walk around and check the place out, could it? He’d finally get it out of his system for once and for all if he could just tick off this one, last clue.

Stephen pocketed the key fob, wondering suddenly if he should have brought something with him a little more intimidating. But what, exactly? What could he have done? Bought a gun? A baseball bat? A scalpel? It was just a building, and it was also broad daylight. He’d just been watching too many violent films recently.

It was certainly a large facility, but there was no one in proximity as Stephen started walking down one side of it. He spotted a few closed up trucks, but not much else. After a few minutes, he turned to follow the building around the back. It had no windows, but that made sense if it was a state of the art, climate-controlled environment, designed specifically for art preservation.

His heartbeat was starting to come back to within normal range as he walked around the last side of the building.

There was nothing. Mercifully, blissfully, nothing.

He’d looked around, seen nothing, found nothing out of the ordinary. Stephen contemplated a set of closed double doors as he walked past them. They were set into a larger section that looked like it would open up to get trucks in. There was no way in hell he’d be able to get in there, he was sure they’d be locked tight as a prison. And besides, actually breaking into the building was definitely on a different level to casually looking around the building. One he could play off as a hapless tourist who was lost, the other? That he’d have to worry about getting a lawyer involved.

Even with all the correct conclusions, Stephen still found himself walking back until he was standing a few yards from the doors and looking them over. His fingers were itching to try the handles, just on the chance that maybe he’d be able to get in. He didn’t dare, due to the presence of the quite obvious security cameras around the doorframe, with a keypad to the side.

Sometimes, you just never knew though. People were stupid. What if someone had forgotten to lock-up? And he’d never be for certain unless he tried…

Stephen took a few steps towards the door, which was also the exact moment one of the doors banged open, ricocheting off the wall behind it with enough force to almost shut it again. Stephen watched on high alert as a kid came racing out of the doors. The kid turned on the ball of his left foot and looked back over at the doors.

“Oh shit, oh shit, NED!” the kid shouted.

He looked like he was gearing up to go back in when he spotted Stephen. “Who are you? Stay away, I,” the kid was frantic, looking between Stephen and the doors. “Oh no, they’ve got Ned. I need to–”

Stephen grabbed the kid’s arm, holding on as he tried to get away. “What’s going on?” Stephen demanded, not wanting to let Tony’s faux-son run back into a building that seemingly held something terrifying within.

The soft, worried frown on the kid’s face threw to Stephen’s mind a name.

“Peter?” he asked.

“Yeah!” he confirmed, sounding surprised. “Call the police, tell them to come – please? They’re all in there, all the plans! They’ve been using it as a hideout. I have to, I have to get to Ned, I have to. They’ve got Ned!” he kept saying as he tried to get away from Stephen’s grip. “He said we shouldn’t have come here. But I just thought: why not try? And, oh,” he squirmed some more. “Please, you have to let me go in. Unless,” he was frantic, looking up at Stephen with fear this time. “Are you one of them? You’ve got to tell me if you’re one of them. Which would be an asshole thing to do to Tony, because he really likes you.”

“I’m not,” Stephen confirmed, unsure what he was being asked to verify.

“You need to call the police, and I gotta get Ned, they’ll kill him, I’m sure!”

Stephen’s brain was working on overtime to try and make sense of it all. “If Ned is in there, and in danger, you need to stay out here. We need to get away and call the police. Who else is in there, Peter?” He had to get Peter to safety and call the police, the military, _someone_. That was all Stephen knew for sure in that moment. There was no way in hell Peter was going back into that warehouse. Stephen started pulling Peter in the direction of where his car was parked, just around the corner and up the road from where they were standing.

“I don’t know, but they had guns, and lots of gadgets. They’re definitely trying to kill Tony, like, _really_ , _really_ , kill him. We heard them talking about it and, and–”

Peter was understandably distracted from his story by the sound of the gun being fired from by the warehouse exit. A tall, brutish-looking man in combat gear was now also standing outside the doors. The gun he’d just fired into the air was pressed up against the head of another teenager; one Stephen assumed was the aforementioned Ned.

“Well, well, well. I thought we were doing well with one hostage, but the boss will be happy I somehow managed to whip up three. All yous, get in the truck.”

Stephen’s feet refused to move, but his grip on Peter remained firm.

“Which truck?” Peter asked. “There’s like three of them.”

The guy cocked the gun, loading the next bullet into the chamber. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Ned looked frantically from Peter to Stephen, his whole body shaking.

“What do we do?” Peter whispered.

“We try to stay alive as long as possible,” Stephen replied, pretending as hard as he could that he was calm.

He didn’t know what else there was to say. In the end, the only sensible way forwards that Stephen could see was to abide with what they were being asked.

They were all soon bound at the wrists and ankles, gagged, and sitting on the floor at the back of a cargo truck.

“You’re lucky I was told to bring the kid back alive. It’s much easier transporting dead bodies,” the goon told them as he slammed the doors shut.

Stephen was pretty sure he’d have been better off spending the afternoon having cocoa with Christine and Chris. But since he was there, Stephen vowed to himself that he’d do whatever was necessary to keep the teenagers alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three chapters left now, gasp! Hopefully a few more things make sense now? 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a "PETER!" in the comments and nothing more, if you do fancy leaving one. 
> 
> See you again soon.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen goes on a little trip, but at least he's not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in this chapter for gun violence and just general violence, really. I had this one ready so just decided to post it early. 
> 
> Last time...  
>  _They were all soon bound at the wrists and ankles, gagged, and sitting on the floor at the back of a cargo truck._
> 
> _“You’re lucky I was told to bring the kid back alive. It’s much easier transporting dead bodies,” the goon told them as he slammed the doors shut._
> 
> _Stephen was pretty sure he’d have been better off spending the afternoon having cocoa with Christine and Chris. But since he was there, Stephen vowed to himself that he’d do whatever was necessary to keep the teenagers alive._

The interior of Stark Tower’s living quarters was a closely kept secret shared by only the four permanent residents who called it home, a small team of cleaning and maintenance staff, and around a dozen architecture magazines. Which was to say, the entirety of the world – if they were so inclined to look up one of the many articles written about Tony’s living space. Built six years ago when Tony had moved to New York from Malibu, he had never shied away from letting the media have promotional photos of the new, state-of-the-art building. Three floors at the top of the building were dedicated to living space. In all there were four very roomy separate apartments. Two remained empty, effectively held for guests, but most regularly used by Obadiah Stane when he wanted to stay over. One housed Happy, Peter, and May – which had never been photographed, as per the wishes of Happy. And the last of the rooms, on the very top floor, were home to Tony. 

It was hard for Stephen to correlate the reality of seeing the inside of Tony’s large living area with the professional photos he’d seen in the media. It did have stunning views though, something he might have appreciated more if he’d been there for a social visit with Tony, but Stephen was finding the bindings around his wrists, ankles, and gag in his mouth a slight distraction from his ability to take it all in and enjoy the sight properly. 

Peter and Ned were similarly adorned and sat on the sofa too, all three of them lined up, ready to be presented to the goon’s boss.

Tony had to know they were there, even if they had been shoved into a private elevator and bypassed the public areas. 

So where the hell was Tony?

Stephen felt sick, but the presence of the teenagers was oddly calming. He knew he had to remain stoic for them. 

Another few minutes passed before another goon brought in Happy and May, both stumbling along in their binds, looking furious. May screamed as best she could behind her own gag when she spotted Peter in the room. Her eyes were round and tearful almost instantly.

“FUFFFKC FUU!” Happy shouted, as best he could, as the guard led him over to the sofa, using a gun pointing at May to help the process along. 

When they’d also sat down on the couch, both guards stood side-by-side and carried out a hushed conversation.

“GRRBBBUfffUU!” Happy shouted again, hands struggling against their bonds, legs wriggling. What he planned to achieve even if he did get free was beyond Stephen’s comprehension.

“Shut up,” Goon One told him, cocking his gun again. “Was he hard to get? The so-called Head of Stark Industries security?” he laughed cruelly.

“That guy?” Goon Two thumbed in Happy’s direction. “I’ve literally kidnapped toddlers who put up more resistance,” he chuckled. “Fucking pathetic.”

“When’s he going to be here for the main event?”

“Soon.”

Who was _he_? Stephen thought to himself. Not Tony, surely not Tony? And if it wasn’t Tony, where was he? Was he safe?

Tony wasn’t safe. That became very apparent as he was pushed through the double doors in a wheelchair minutes later.

“OBBBB!” Happy tried shouting, snarling even through his gag, looking like he was trying to kill Stane with his eyes.

 _Obie,_ as in Obadiah Stane, was pushing Tony through, smirking as he looked upon those assembled.

Stephen should have been more surprised, but after the night of the big tech release, when he’d seen the way Stane was with Tony, it just seemed to make sense. It also brought back vivid memories of the first time he’d met Stane, when Tony was hospitalised for the poisoning. And Stane’s only question had been to ask how close to death Tony had come. Of course it was him behind this all. 

“Ah, Tony, your guests have arrived, my boy! You’ll have to excuse Tony,” he said to the assembled hostages while parking the wheelchair and putting on the brakes. “We’ve had a bit of an intense time the last few hours and he’s not feeling his best.” He put his hand on Tony’s shoulder in a mockery of paternal comfort and shook Tony, making his head wobble grotesquely. 

Tony’s complexion was ashen, with dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He looked like a heavily watered-down version of himself and could barely keep himself upright in the chair. There weren't any binds on Tony, probably because at this point there was no need for them. But it only took one glance into his eyes and Stephen knew that even if Tony was tired, he wasn’t down and broken yet.

“We’ve been playing a bit with Tony’s heart over the last day. It turns out you can make that pacemaker of his speed up and slow down however you like. Such a strong man this one, but with a push of a button, bang!” He threw his head back and laughed.

Stephen felt himself frozen to the spot, wishing Tony would stand, prove Stane wrong and knock the older man out somehow.

“If you’re wondering when JARVIS will come to your aid, I can reassure you he won’t. I had my team create a virus to take down that annoying, artificial, attack dog Tony has running the show. That was a tricky bit of work, I’m told. So don’t worry about waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, just settle in and we can all talk.”

Tony’s head lolled to the side. It looked like he was going through some kind of muscle spasm through the left-side of his body. 

“I’m so proud of you, Tony, for everything you’ve done, for everything we’ve created together. But we’re at the end of the road here, and I’m tired of fighting you. I’m tired of torturing you. I hate that you made me do this to you, truly I do. 

“My godson, my right-hand man, the only child of my long-dead best friend. You think it doesn’t break me to see him like this?” Stane said, addressing everyone else in the room but Tony. “Pathetic and falling apart, that’s what he is. He doesn’t care about dying any more, it seems. I tried that. And he still wouldn’t give me what I wanted. So we’re going to try another thing, and if that doesn’t work, we’re going to try another thing, and we’ll keep going until I get what I want.” Stane looked over at Tony, a sneer on his face. “You will give in eventually.”

He stood back and gestured to the five people on the couch.

“We’re going to try killing your loved ones, Tony. Your so-called new-family.” Stane looked up the line of people again and stopped with his eyes on Stephen.

“Why’s there an extra one? What’s he doing here?” Stane asked the goons.

“He was there at the warehouse when I went to get the boy, who did exactly what you said he would and went straight there.”

Stane rolled his eyes at Goon 1. “So you just brought him along with you?”

“He was on the list.”

“As a backup, you moron, that’s tier two!” Stane’s voice was rising. “Do you know how many people will notice he’s missing? He’s not like the rest of these idiots.”

“He already saw me,” Goon 1 grunted back, teeth clenched, looking like he’d like to throttle Stane himself now.

Stane sighed and looked to Goon 2. “You,” he said, pointing at Goon 2, “You’ll get the extra money you asked for.”

Goon 2 nodded. Goon 1 was dead on the floor, the bullet embedded in the wall behind his head before he had any chance of understanding what was happening.

Stephen had seen dead bodies before, seen people die before, but not like this, never like this. May was screaming next to him, while Ned had passed out and slid onto the floor.

Tony in his current state barely reacted.

“It turns out, except for those here in this room, no one would even care if you died, Tony. Isn’t that a little pathetic?”

It wasn’t true, Stephen thought. He wasn’t even supposed to be in the room. He’d just got caught up in the stupidity of his obsession and ended up there accidentally. And since he wasn’t meant to be there, it meant if Tony was gone, he would have been the person outside these walls caring. All the kids at the hospital too, in that silly, wonderful, Robot Club, they would have cared. People cared, Stephen wanted to yell back at Stane. There was probably even a barista somewhere who would cry if they heard Tony was dead, and not just because his tips were putting them through college. It just was not true and, and… Stephen made himself tune back into what was going on.

“I have to say, it feels so refreshing to be in a room with you all and manage to get a fucking word into the conversation,” he scowled at Peter pointedly. “But soon none of that will be an issue, because you’ll be dead. And all because Tony here,” he stroked the top of Tony’s sweat-clumped hair with the back of his knuckles, “Tony here is going to do what I ask.”

“No,” Tony slurred out. “No.”

Stane took a deep breath. “I told you, whatever happens, they’re dying tonight. I’m going to make it look like you all had a tiny, awful accident in a light aircraft – so horribly unreliable those things. Or, if you prefer, I could just shoot everyone _except_ Happy, and then frame it all on him, hums? Dump him in a park covered in your blood, doped up enough that he’ll never be able to remember himself if he did it? 

“You can control what happens here, Tony, _how_ they die. If I make it quick and painless, or, I keep them for days, string it out in the most painful way possible.”

Tony shook his head a little, mumbling sounds that Stephen took to be “no” again.

“Do you want what happened to Pepper to happen to them as well? That could always be an option.”

This made Tony freeze up. Stephen’s heart felt like it was being squeezed.

“You should have seen Pepper’s face when I pushed her off that bridge, Tony. She was so angry, because I think a part of her knew I was the one behind the double bookkeeping, but she couldn’t find any solid proof. You’re a genius at the technology side of things, but my accountant? He’s the Stephen Hawkins of dirty dealings. I guess what I did to her back then would be deemed _gaslighting_ now. It was a fun few weeks leading her in circles, before, well. She had to go.”

Tony looked up at Stane, face contorting with pain and rage. Stephen could see Tony’s right hand shaking, but he clearly didn’t have enough control over himself to offer up any real resistance. Especially not with Goon 2 standing off to the side with a loaded gun in hand.

“Doctor Stranger, wasn’t it?” said Stane, turning his attention to Stephen. He walked over and undid the gag around Stephen’s head, discarding the moist cloth on the ground. Stephen took in a few much needed deep breaths of air through his mouth. 

“Strange,” Stephen said tersely. “And the hospital will realize I’m gone, you know.”

“I know, I know, that’s why he,” Stane nodded in the direction of the now cooling corpse, “is currently dead. You did make it onto my list of people I could use to manipulate Tony. But don’t be too flattered, really it’s just a sign of how few people Tony has in his life.

“I’ve been blessed though, now I think about it. I really only needed one piece of leverage, but that lot is a package deal, so they all had to come,” he said waving his hand at Happy, May, Peter, and Ned. “It’s amazing to me that I’ve been provided with five incentives to motivate Tony. To think, my godson, forming bonds with people and not just robots? Amazing. When he is finally in his right mind again, he’ll realize he has no choice but to give me what I want.”

“You’re going to kill us whatever he does!” Stephen snapped. Stane had already said as much. “How’s that meant to motivate Tony? Have you completely lost your mind?”

Stane sauntered back over to Tony and gently stroked Tony’s hair some more, running his fingers through the strands and tightening his grip at the base of a clump, levering it to rock Tony’s head back and forth.

“The motivation is in how you die. Either you can go peacefully, if Tony is a good boy and does what I ask. Or I can make him suffer through watching you all die horribly slowly, in the knowledge that I’ll just find more people to torture in your place after. Do you want to watch them suffer, Tony?” he spoke gently into Tony’s ear. “Humms? Because I’m going to kill the boy first, Peter’s friend. And then May, and then Happy, and then probably your doctor friend. And at this point, if you’re still resisting, Peter. And I’ll cut him into teenie, tiny, small slices while he’s alive, and keep going until he’s not.”

Stephen couldn’t help it, perhaps it was stress, perhaps his mind was just collapsing in on itself, but he started laughing.

“You’re insane, truly insane. Why do you need to torture him into making you new weapons for you to sell? By this point, I think we all know it must have been you, right? It doesn’t even make any sense. You’re drawing this out because at some point you lost your mind, so you want to see Tony lose his.” 

Stane had ungagged him hoping he’d beg, Stephen assumed. Thinking he’d aid Stane into getting Tony’s agreement. 

Stane tutted. “Oh, Tony, I thought your boy here was so _smart_ , but he’s also an idiot it seems,” he tutted. “It’s about the AI, Doctor Strange.”

Finally, Stane took his hands off Tony and Stephen’s chest eased a little in relief. Then he walked over to the dead goon and plucked the gun from the man’s hand.

“All of this,” he waved the gun around for effect, “is about artificial intelligence.” Stane swaggered back to where Stephen and the other hostages were positioned and stood a few feet in front, examining the gun as he talked. “JARVIS, that monstrous HAL-wannabe that runs this building, imagine if we could fit one of him inside every weapon? You’d have missiles that could self-pilot and decide when to explode. Guns with auto-aim on them the likes of which the world has never seen. It isn’t about quantity anymore. This is about the _quality_ of the weapon.”

Stephen’s eyes widened as he started to see the real potential outcome.

“Except, I tried stealing an earlier version of JARVIS and giving him to my team. They tried, bless them, they really tried, but Tony is very exceptional. He’s put some kind of block on JARVIS, so now JARVIS won’t listen to me. We’ve tried everything and nothing works. JARVIS won’t budge on hurting people. So you see my dilemma: I have an AI that seizes up equipment instead of piloting it. That melts circuits instead of firing. He’s a computer program, Tony, JARVIS can be reprogrammed, and I’m sure with the right motivation, you’ll suddenly find a way to do it. It’s about time you stop refusing and just _give me what I want_.”

Stane cocked the gun and clicked the barrel to load.

“I was going to kill Peter’s friend first, take it nice and easy on you. But I find myself with a loose end here that I’d rather tie up sooner rather than later,” he turned to Tony to smirk, the barrel of the gun pressed in tight to the temple of Stephen’s head. “If you don’t mind, my boy?”

Tony huffed out a breath and let out an utterance.

“What was that?” Stane asked, walking closer to Tony again. “It is rude to mutter, Tony. Say you’ll do it, nice and loud for me.” He leaned in again, ear close to Tony’s mouth, but whatever strength Tony had for trying to talk had left him once more.

“If you were trying to tell me yet again that it can’t be done, I know you’re full of shit, just like your old man was. You come up with impossible things every day. You’ve put some block on JARVIS and you just have to remove it! I’m not going to start believing that crap about how he makes his own decisions, do you hear me?” Stane stopped moving, his breathing harsh, eyes lit with a demonic glee. “Where was I?” he wondered out loud.

He looked around the room, eyes falling back on Stephen. “Oh yes, I was going to murder you.”

A few strides later he was back standing besides Stephen, the barrel of the gun firmly digging into the side of Stephen’s head. 

“What’s your speciality again?” Stane asked.

“Neuro… Neurosurgery,” Stephen choked out.

“What would you say the probability is of death from this range?” He twisted the gun around. 

Stephen’s brain scrambled for an answer. Maybe if he kept the man talking a little longer, somehow something would change? He’d get to live a little longer at least. Just a little longer. Just keep him talking, just keep him talking…

“Potentially not fatal immediately. There’s been cases where the bullet takes the right course and the outcome is life-changing brain injury, but the person lives.”

“And how do you rate your chances?”

Stephen’s eyes met Tony’s.

“Abysmal,” he answered honestly. “Tony’s not going to give in and let you sell weapons to terrorists _with_ his designed _improvements_. Nor should he.”

Stephen wanted to shut his eyes and go to sleep. Pretend for a moment none of this was happening. Pretend like the circulation in his hands and feet wasn’t being restricted to the point of numbness. But he couldn’t. He knew if he was going to die, he was going to die while looking at Tony one last time.

“We’ll see,” Stane sighed. “Farewell, Doctor–”

“Blan… _ket_ ,” Tony hissed loud enough to be heard this time. He looked like he was about to throw up the contents of his stomach, his whole body trembling.

Stane stayed his hand. “Yes?” he inquired sweetly.

“Pi, ep...silon,” Tony spoke so clearly, yet so quietly. “Pi. Four.” He broke off coughing, his whole body shaking with the effort his words had cost him. 

“What?” Stane asked, dropping the gun to his side as he turned all his focus on Tony. “Is that the code for JARVIS, Tony?” Stane asked, suddenly sounding almost gleeful. “Tell me, is that what was missing?” 

But that was when it happened. A whooshing sound filled the room and a thick, black mist descended in the blink of an eye. It was cold and oddly grainy, smelling strongly of coconut. Stephen couldn’t see a thing, not even his own legs in front of him, so dense was the particulate filling the air. And yet, he could still breathe. It was cool and even refreshing to his lungs.

Somewhere, a gun fired in the darkness. There were sounds of movement to his right where the others had been sat, noises of what Stephen assumed was Happy falling on the ground.

Stane was shouting, and then May was shouting. Another gun fired, and Stephen still couldn’t see anything. He worked sightlessly to undo the binds on his ankles the best he could with his still bound wrists. There was grunting and a yelp that Stephen assigned to Peter.

Time passed like hours but in the end Stephen would find out the whole blackout period had lasted under ten minutes.

Fans eventually came on and the black mist was soon sucked away again through vents high in the walls, revealing a scene of chaos.

Goon 2 had vanished completely from sight. May had freed her hands and Happy his feet. Stane was prone on the floor.

“Does he have a pulse?” Stephen asked, eyes glued to Stane.

Peter finally worked his gag out and pointed with a quivering arm at Tony. Stephen’s eyes followed Peter’s direction and dread filled him.

Tony was slumped in the wheelchair Stane had pushed him in on, looking for all the world just as lifeless as Stane did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in some shock we finally reached this point in the story. There's one last proper chapter left, and then an epilogue to come before this journey is over. 
> 
> Hopefully it wasn't too terrible? Suspense is Hard, is all I can say! I'm trying to get my money's worth from that "hurt Tony" tag, can you tell? 
> 
> Feel free to come say hi any time on Tumblr where I am Coconutice22 there too. Or on Discord, where you can find me hanging out on the IronStrange Haven group. 
> 
> See you all really soon for the penultimate chapter!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen finally gets to eat some chocolate. A few other things happen first, but let's focus on that, shall we? 
> 
> Final chapter of the main fic! Epilogue still to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule? What update schedule? _cough _.__
> 
> __Last time..._ _
> 
> ___Peter finally worked his gag out and pointed with a quivering arm at Tony. Stephen’s eyes followed Peter’s direction and dread filled him._ _ _
> 
> ___Tony was slumped in the wheelchair Stane had pushed him in on, looking for all the world just as lifeless as Stane did._ _ _

The next few minutes were something of a confused mess, which later Stephen would barely be able to recall. Brief flashes of what happened that day would play in the back of his mind when he tried to sleep for many years to come though.

At some point, under cover of the black fog, May had managed to cut the ties binding her hands and feet with scissors she’d found in Tony’s knitting kit – the existence of which Stephen was hoping to one day discuss with Tony.

_Knitting, really?_

Peter then used the same scissors to free Stephen’s hands and then the still unconscious Ned.

“He’s not breathing,” May confirmed, leaning close to check his vitals. She looked back at Stephen, Happy and Peter. “I’ll start CPR–”

Stephen and Happy then maneuvered Tony out of the wheelchair and onto the ground.

“I should do it,” Stephen said, kneeling down next to Tony himself now. “I don’t know this room well enough to be able to find things or instruct EMTs here.”

She hesitated, but only a second, seeing his offer for the sense it was. They were going to need an ambulance in here and soon, and it probably was better May was free to deal with that.

“The emergency services have already been notified,” came a voice from all around them. “They will be here momentarily.” 

“JARVIS!” Peter shouted, joy tinged with fear, eyes full of presumptive grief and hope. “Obie said you were dead! But like, how would he ever kill you?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Parker, they put a virus into my system and I had some problems removing it. I’ve quarantined half of my functions for now to be able to get somewhat back online. I will assist you in whatever means I can while I work to get everything online once more.”

Stephen was barely listening to what JARVIS had to say, as he was too busy carrying out chest compressions to keep Tony alive – for the second time that year.

“We have a problem,” JARVIS notified them all. “The cardiac device Sir uses to keep his heart working appears to have had a critical failure.”

Happy and May looked at each other, both terrified. “Can you reboot it, JARVIS?” Happy asked.

“Not remotely right now, I’m afraid. I haven’t been able to get that function online again yet.”

“Is there anyone who has the clearance to do it through the remote server?” Peter asked.

Stephen had to give it to the kid. Peter’s father-figure was on the ground, dying faster than he was clinging to life, and he still had it in him to try and find a solution.

“Only James Rhodes, and he’s still on his mission for Sir tracking down the weapons. By the time we contact him and he has the server set up, it may be too late. There is perhaps one option, but it is untested and you know how I feel about Sir using untested technology on himself.”

“Do we have any other viable options, JARVIS?” May asked, shuffling closer to Happy, who drew her in close.

“No, and I’m afraid without re-starting his implant, Sir is unlikely to make it to the end of the day. Even with intense medical help, his heart will not start again. I can guide you to where he put the CAAKE though.”

“The what?” Stephen asked between compressions.

“It’ll be an acronym for something silly,” May rattled out quickly. “Like, cardiac… something something. Okay, JARVIS, please tell us where it is.”

“Certainly,” JARVIS confirmed. “Please head to the lab, I’ll direct you from there.”

“Are you going to be okay here for a few minutes?” May stopped to check.

“Yes,” Stephen bit out tersely, counting as best he could. He felt winded, exhausted, shattered, nerves on fire from the stress of it all, but he knew he had to keep going.

Stephen was grinding his teeth and shaking with the weight of it all as they left to find the device, leaving him on his own with the knocked-out Ned and dying Tony.

“I don’t know much about you, it turns out,” Breathe, pump, pump, pump, pump, pump, so many pumps. “But it turns out, I’d really like to spend the rest of my life finding out.” Breathe, pump pump, his wrist and fingers hurt, but on he went. “If you’d let me.” Breathe, pump, pump, pump, pump, pump. “So if you could just, live,” breathe, pump, pump, pump, pump, pump, trying to remember to breathe himself so he didn’t pass out. “That’d be great?”

“Got it!” Happy shouted, distantly. He was back in a flash, holding in his hand what looked like a metal donut.

“You’re sure this will work?” Stephen asked before he could stop himself. It wasn’t like they had any other options, but his mind wouldn’t shut up.

“Tony was sure, which means it should work. So yeah, probably. Maybe? What are the chances of it working, JARVIS? What’s the risk to Tony if it malfunctions?” May questioned the AI, fear clear in her tone.

There was no reply.

“Is he down again?” May asked Peter.

Peter was already entering things into his phone when she asked, prodding and whizzing through dozens of different screens. “I have no idea. He might have put himself into reboot mode to try and recover more of his systems. If he was fully online, he’d be able to do this, but it makes sense he’d keep functions that could let him access Tony’s hardware down until he was sure the virus was cleared out.”

“So we all gotta decide,” Happy summed up. “All of us here, right now, if we think Tony knew what he was doing or not. If we can trust in Tony.”

Stephen didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the so-called CAAKE and placed it on top of Tony’s chest, in about the position of Tony’s heart.

“It’s not doing anything?” he stated after an anticipatory pause.

Peter crouched down next to him. He picked up the device and fiddled with it, twisting the bottom and the top in different directions.

Stephen watched with horror as Tony’s color drained further, worsening every minute the CPR was halted. Maybe this was a dumb decision. He was killing Tony by not keeping up the thing he knew would work. He’d done it, he’d killed Tony. Brain damage, tissue damage, Tony would never recover. How could he? Stephen had killed him. The CAAKE might work to save Tony, but if none of them knew how to work it, it was entirely pointless.

Peter put the device back down on Tony’s chest and stood back.

There was the crackle of electricity zipping over Tony’s body. His whole body seized again and the CAAKE turned first blue, and then a fierce red before returning again to blue.

“Thank you, Mr. Parker, you’ve successfully rebooted his device,” JARVIS chimed in. “I’ve managed to regain my diagnostic tools. Full function should be back within 10 minutes. My apologies for the brief outage.”

“Oh, thank God,” May wept, clinging suddenly to a very drained-looking Happy. He clung back and then Peter was also enfolded into the hug.

Stephen remained apart from them, kneeling by Tony on the floor, where he dutifully monitored Tony’s vitals until the emergency services arrived.

***

“I just don’t understand why after so many years Stane snapped _now_. And why try to kill you if he wanted you alive?”

Tony was propped up in bed, picking chocolates out of the large box he’d been given by a member of his staff. He kept taking a tiny bite of his selected chocolate, making a face of disgust, and putting the chocolate back in the box.

Stephen knew he’d lost his mind when he found this vulgarity _delightful_.

“It’s two problems really,” Tony said after a pause. “He was trying to stop me from breaking the military contracts. If I was dead, he’d be the majority shareholder. When I went ahead and announced it all anyway, he took up his Plan B... So I’m guessing. I’ll never really know. There’s still a chance it wasn’t him who poisoned me or who blew up your car. There really have been a few attempts on my life in the past too,” Tony finished softly. “Blegh,” he decreed, putting another chocolate back in the box.

“Do you even like chocolates? These seem to all offend you.”

“Not really,” Tony said, eating another anyway. “But I used to think Obie loved me, so,” he shrugged. “Maybe other things have changed too?”

Tony seemed to be taking things in his stride and approached the topic of what had happened to him four days ago with considerable aplomb.

“Pete’s grounded for like, the next fifty years for going to that warehouse. Still not sure if I should be grounding you too, by the way.”

“I wasn’t even, I mean, I didn’t, hey! I had no intention of getting kidnapped when I went there,” Stephen spluttered, trying to defend himself.

“Why _were_ you there? May was talking about it last night and I realized I didn’t have a good answer.”

Tony was recovered enough now that Stephen felt comfortable probing him for more information. He planned on slowly working his way up to asking why it was he’d read in the newspaper the day before that Obadiah Stane had mysteriously died in a light-aircraft accident. It had come as a surprise to Stephen who knew for a fact Stane had died in Tony’s apartment from a bullet in his skull.

The only downside to Tony doing better was that he also apparently now felt energetic enough to question Stephen about his actions. How very unfair.

“I was following a lead,” Stephen said.

“Aha?”

Tony looked comfortable in the bed. He’d been released from the hospital that morning more for his own safety and that of the hospital staff than anything else. But with a board-certified doctor constantly hovering around, May, and his own personal physician he’d just hired to live-in at the tower too, Tony was pretty well set for his recovery at home.

The room they were in now was technically a guest bedroom for May and Happy’s suite. They looked similar to the rooms Tony used himself, but much homelier, with many more personal touches from the couple who inhabited them. No press cameras had ever been in May and Happy’s rooms, though.

“I wondered why Pepper had died. I just… it didn’t make any sense.”

“Hums. No. But I guess now we know what happened to her. I had to wait five years to get her declared legally dead, did you know that?”

“Because they never found a body, you said before.”

“Nope, no body, no nothing.” He frowned and bit into another chocolate. This one didn’t seem to displease him so much and soon the other half was being eaten too. Tony happily chewed on that for a moment. “No body, so she can’t be legally dead. We ended up in this weird limbo situation,” he sighed. “I spent so many hours hoping she was still alive. Wondering if maybe she’d hit her head and had amnesia. Or if she’d just had enough of me and the company and had run away to buy a bar on some sandy beach. But at five years, she was legally dead.”

“I had pieced together that your weapons shutdown happened at about the point her death was official,” Stephen said softly. “It somehow seemed fitting. Almost as if you were trying to honor her.”

Tony nodded distractedly. “She always thought I could do more if I wanted to. But you have no idea how hard those Defense contracts are to break. I spent years changing up the back-end of the business and expanding the tech side of things so we could finally claim that weapons manufacturing was not the majority earner for the company. In the end, we were making more from patents to manufacturing AI for factory equipment than from weapons. Obie never seemed to care though, never understood that we could just shut it all down. In his view, we had to keep it all going. And then of course, I found out thanks to Christine Everhart just exactly where the weapons were going astray.”

Stephen reached over to the chocolate box and picked up five of the non-mangled chocolates, throwing the lot of them in his own mouth.

“Did you ever suspect it was Obadiah behind it all?” he finally asked, once he’d swallowed the sugary treats down. He felt a little like he was tempting fate by daring to ask this. Since Tony had first woken up in the hospital, things between them had been astonishingly blissful, almost as if they’d never in fact broken up in the way they had. There were some things Stephen had to ask though, for his own sanity.

Tony snorted. “I honestly don’t know. Even if I did, the idea was just so…” he took a deep breath in. “It all still feels like a fake and like the real Obie will pop up and tell me he was sorry that an impostor took over.”

“Pepper wasn’t fooled, I take it? That’s the only thing that makes sense as to why he went after her.”

“To be honest? I’m not sure she had any idea what was going on, as sharp as she was. You have to believe me, we had no indication anything was amiss. That man changed my diapers, Stephen. He’d known me since I was born. I trusted him.”

Stephen was sure he wouldn’t be the only one questioning how Tony knew nothing of this second, secret business under his own, and his heart hurt in that moment for Tony who was going to have to answer all manner of awkward questions about it. When Tony was so clearly trying to come to terms with it all himself.

“Why was Peter at the warehouse? If he’s grounded for 50 years, I’m hoping it was at least for a good reason.”

“Oh Pete,” Tony sighed. “Obadiah left some clues for him. Peter’s smart, he figured them out, he just didn’t figure out he was being led on. I figure Obie wanted to separate him from Happy and May to make it easier to take them all.

“They’d been using that stupid warehouse as a base of operations for the blackmarket weapons sales. I haven’t been down there since the day I signed the paperwork to buy the site. In hindsight, I should have realized it was the perfect location for them: out of the way, large, and I never installed JARVIS there because an external firm manages the lot, including Pepper’s art.

“I don’t know anything about art conservation or preservation. Leaving it all up to them just made sense. Maybe there’s a future degree in it for me, who knows? Seems like I’m going to be bed bound for a while, might as well get something from it. It's all just chemistry, right?” Tony rambled on.

Stephen reached up and lightly squeezed Tony’s hand.

“It’s not your fault, you know?”

“Sure feels like it is. None of us are ever going to be the same again after this.”

“No, we won’t. But sometimes things have to change, for the better or worse, they have to change.”

Tony moved the chocolate box to his bedside table and put his right hand over Stephen’s. They sat like that for a moment, both in quiet contemplation.

“You never really answered my question,” Tony said, breaking the silence. “About why you were there.”

Stephen sighed to himself, and decided he should give Tony a full response, since Tony was finally opening up. “I spoke to a friend of Pepper’s, that’s how I found out the unit existed. She made it sound like Pepper’s art collection was the envy of the city. I don’t really know what I hoped to find there,” Stephen confessed.

“Why _did_ you feel the need to look into Pepper’s death?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stephen said looking hard into Tony’s eyes. “I’m an obsessive perfectionist. I want what I can’t have, and I couldn’t have you, so I wanted you. And I got it stuck into my head if I just found out what happened to her, you’d… somehow, we’d somehow, well...”

“Stephen… You know I didn’t sever ties with you because I don’t _like_ you. It was to try and keep you safe. He would have killed you.” Tony looked softly regretful as he spoke.

“Well, Obadiah definitely would have killed you, twice already this year by my reckoning, if I hadn’t been around. But he’s dead now and we’re alive, so I’d say that calls for a celebration,” Stephen shot back.

Tony was puzzled, but intrigued. “So… are you interested in returning to our _something_? Is that what this visit is about?”

Stephen froze. Tony gently let go of his hand and Stephen retracted his own back too.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Stephen said after a pause, regret shaping his entire being. “I can’t keep bringing you back from the brink of death. I can’t keep trying to understand your crazy, messed-up world. I’m never going to understand it all.”

Tony nodded, solemn, exhausted, but accepting.

“But,” Stephen continued, “every time this last year I decided I was going to get away from you, I ended up seeking you out all over again. I feel like I spent the last year looking over my shoulder, somehow hoping _and_ fearing you’d be there. I can’t get away from you... and I have also come to realize that I do not wish to be away from you,” he confessed.

It had only been eleven months since the first time Stephen had ran into Tony in the hospital parking lot, but it felt like so much longer. Stephen wasn’t sure he’d ever been as enchanted by someone as he was by Tony.

“That sounds… mildly messed up,” Tony said with a small smile.

“You _fascinate_ me, Tony. It’s like when I’m doing surgery and I can see all the potential and all the pitfalls at once. When things are going well, I’m on top of the world flying high. But the fall back down to earth if it goes wrong? It hurts, it’s harsh, lives are lost.”

“I understand.” He looked broken, so small and fragile on the large bed.

“My every instinct says I have to make sure you live. That I’m never going to find happiness unless I do. So, in conclusion, I guess I really have no choice but to date you,” Stephen finished, sitting back in his visitor’s chair and giving Tony his full attention.

“Huh,” Tony said slowly. “That, um, was not where I thought this little speech was going.”

“And of course you’re interested in me, since you need me around to keep you alive and all.”

“History would suggest yes. But you know I’m interested in you for far more than that, right?”

“I just have one question,” Stephen stated, cutting Tony off.

“Anything.” Tony paused, “Though, if it is about the parking space again...” Tony said with a frown.

Stephen huffed a laugh. “No. All I really want to know is why you named a device meant to save your life CAAKE? JARVIS told us we had to get you CAAKE to survive. It was, on the whole, one of the most confusing moments of my life.”

Tony laughed until he had to stop because his ribs hurt, and then laughed some more.

“How about, soon as I’m allowed out of here, I take you to dinner and explain my whole history with terrible acronyms and initialisms?”

Stephen pretended to think about the offer for a second. “I think I can handle that, yes,” he agreed, feeling optimistic and yet so fearful in that moment. He wasn’t sure how it was possible to be both sickenly afraid and giddily joyful for what the future could bring, but he was. All Stephen knew for certain was that so long as he and Tony were both still breathing, there was hope, and he was going to hold onto that for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sad and joyful myself to be posting this chapter. To have reached this point has made me so happy though. 
> 
> I've put this fic in a series now, as there will be a one-shot coming at a minimum that's 95% written. I'm hoping to post at the same time as the epilogue. The one-shot goes through some of the events from Tony's POV and fills in a few plot threads that Stephen, for it is He, just refused to want to care about filling in. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and for all the encouragement I've received. It has truly meant the world to me and given me such happiness these last few, very weird months. 
> 
> See you soon for the epilogue!


	17. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later, what are Tony and Stephen up to?

_**Five years later** _

Baby Cody was nothing like his older sister and looked like he’d be spending his sister’s entire birthday party crying. To be fair to the child, he’d been in a fabulous mood at the start of the party. Not that Stephen and Tony were to know this, as they had arrived late and missed the quiet period.

Within minutes of Tony and Stephen arriving at Christine and Christopher’s house, baby Cody had been pushed into the arms of his Uncle Tony, where he’d warbled, wobbled, and finally fell into a deep sleep.

“I don’t know how you do that, and I don’t care either,” Christine commented, looking very relieved, even if she was clearly a little put out that Cody slept for Tony.

“I’m sorry we’re late. He couldn’t pick which tie to wear to a five year old’s birthday party,” Tony let them know, sticking his tongue out at Stephen.

“Me?” Stephen said aghast. “You take longer to get ready than anyone I have ever dated – _combined_.”

“I look good though, right?” Tony said with a charming grin.

Stephen rolled his eyes but nodded. “Exceptional. You are the best-dressed person at a child’s birthday party. Congratulations.”

“Stop saying that as if she doesn’t deserve her uncles to look their best. The best things in life are just worth waiting for, Stephen.” With a grin on his face and a bounce in his step, Stephen watched Tony saunter out the back patio doors, baby still in his arms, to join the mess of adults and screaming children in the back garden.

It was true, the best things were definitely worth waiting for.

“You know the baby only likes you because of that ridiculous cologne you wear,” Stephen called out, taking advantage of his longer stride to catch up with Tony.

“I honestly don’t care why he likes me, if it gets me out of having to clean up this mess later? I’ll take it.”

“Oh no, poor Tony, can’t possibly help tidy! He’s got to hold the baby,” Stephen said in jest.

“Shush you, yes he does have to hold the baby,” Christine reprimanded. “I’m putting some more food out soon; you might want to get it before the kids get their sticky hands on it.”

Even while she was rushing around, Christine looked calm and at peace, in her element almost. Not an entirely different person to the woman he’d come to know and love over the years, but definitely a more mature and confident one. She was magnificent.

It was funny how much things had and yet had not changed since that dinner party five and a half years prior when he’d found out Christine and Chris were expecting Anabel. As the time had passed, he couldn’t really imagine his life without the little girl.

The adorable, button-nosed, sweet thing who–

“STRANNNGGEEEEEE!” came the screech, followed by hysterical giggles.

“Hello, Anabel,” he said with stiff amusement, not wanting to let on how over the years this odd greeting had come to charge his spirits.

“Hehehehe,” she giggled more. It was an odd greeting, but very unique. “Hi Uncle Tony,” she said to him as sweet as sweet could be, with an endearing little wave.

“Why does he get to be Uncle Tony, and I’m–”

“STRANNGGEEEE!” she shouted again, laughing uncontrollably. She had strawberries smeared over her face and on her dress, and her hair looked like she’d been electrocuted. She was still about the cutest thing he’d ever seen though.

“Yes, that.”

The baby in Tony’s arms hadn’t bothered to stir at all, too used to his sister’s antics already, even at this stage of his life.

“I dunno, it is your name,” she explained. “I like it.”

“That is true,” he sighed, “And thank you. I like yours too.”

“Did you bring me presents?”

“Anabel!” Christine chastised while she walked by with several platters of miniature sandwiches in her hands.

“What? They always get me something so cool, Mommy!”

Tony had built her a custom-made bike, but it’d been agreed by all the adults it should only be brought out later on when Anabel’s friends were gone, so Tony could have time to explain the various features of the bike. Technically it was a prototype for a product Tony hoped to mass release later that year. Anabel had been his chief tester for such products for the majority of her life. She even liked to give him little evaluation forms after with her thoughts on, which used a scale only her and Tony understood, involving a lot of kitten and dragon stickers. 

“Hello, Shirley, Joan,” Tony greeted the hospital administrator and her wife warmly.

Seeing him with an armful of baby, they waved at him instead of the hugs and kisses Stephen himself got.

“How was the drive over?” Shirley asked. “Hit a lot of traffic?”

Tony groaned. “No, it was my fault we’re late. I was having a crisis of clothing. It’s hard to impress kids these days, needed to bring my a-game.”

“Ah, so you finally admit it,” Stephen said slyly. “And the drive was lovely, thank you,” he turned to face Shirley and Joan.

“The new house is working out okay?”

“Few kinks we’re still working on,” Tony answered.

“The toilet doesn’t flush unless you ask it to in French,” Stephen replied. “And the bread machine you have to speak to in Italian? Or was it Finnish? I forget now.”

Tony winced, “Yeah, okay, okay, still a few things to iron out, but progressive, zero-carbon smart houses don’t build themselves in a day.”

“Not yet, anyway!” Shirley laughed. “We’ll give you a little longer for that, shall we?”

Stephen and Tony had spent the first two years of their relationship going back and forth between each other's homes until Tony finally asked Stephen to move in with him at the tower. Stephen couldn’t bring himself to do it though. The occasional night there hadn’t seemed too awful, but spending every night walking around the rooms where Obadiah Stane had done that to his partner? He couldn’t watch TV in the evening without his eyes landing on the floor where Tony had lain dying. On his worst days, Stephen could swear he still saw blood specks on the wall from where the goon had died.

So they agreed to find somewhere else to stay. Which had worked for a time, but it hadn’t felt very _them_. Tony had also missed the company of Happy, May, and Peter as well. So for some time they lived in the guest suit of the tower, trying to make that work. 

One day, Tony came to Stephen with a suggestion. He wanted to sell the tower and move the HQ out of the city center. Move to somewhere more affordable for the workers, move to somewhere they could buy land and really build what they wanted. The move had come at a price to Stephen in particular. Stephen’s journey into work had lengthened greatly, though having JARVIS to help him drive and the occasional helicopter ride when things were really bad did definitely help. Tony had made vague comments about how he was working on something else, a form of transport the likes of which the world had never seen. Something that could be useful to Stephen one day. Tony was working on a lot of things these days thanks to his new, super large workspace in the new house. All of it cutting-edge technology, and so secret that not even Peter knew fully what was going on. Stephen knew he’d share it with his family when he was ready to, when the tech was ready to be shared. 

The move had definitely been one of their best changes of late. They all had their own space, without being right on top of each other. There was enough communal space that they could still spend quality time together. It was simply the best of all worlds. 

Stephen couldn’t envision himself ever going back to his old apartment ever again. He’d thought he’d been happy there, but three years of living with Tony, he knew he could never be happy in that apartment ever again. Stephen still owned it, but had decided to rent it out when they’d finally made the decision to move in together. There was some early talk about Peter moving there when he finished college, so as to give him a base of operations closer to the city center for when he started work. Stephen suspected Peter would want to be back at home with the rest of them, and not just so he could be closer to Tony’s fully decked out lab. 

“It’s crazy seeing you two together you know?” Shirley laughed. “Considering how much you seemed to hate each other at the start.”

“I never hated him,” Tony said at the same time Stephen replied with “I didn’t even know him!”

“He certainly knew you, Stephen. The only demand this man,” Shirley said, pointing to Tony for Joan’s edification, “ever made when he donated all that money to the hospital, was that he needed Doctor Stephen Strange’s car parking space.”

Joan laughed, “What had he done to upset you so much?” she questioned.

“Excuse me?” Stephen asked. “I was told it was at random that he was allocated my space.”

Tony suddenly looked very guilty. He lifted baby Cody up and sniffed him, “Oh dear. I think it’s time for this little one to have his diaper changed. I should go do that.”

“Looks fine to me,” Christine chirped up, joining the group. “What was that about the space?”

Tony blanched, looking around for an escape. Upon not seeing a magical portal turn up to whisk him away, he looked back at Stephen. “About nine years ago, I was at a conference in Chicago.”

“Ah-ha,” Stephen said heavily.

“And you kinda took the last shrimp cocktail? Which I’d wanted? When I saw your name in the hospital parking lot all those years later… well, surprise?”

Stephen’s brain was doing somersaults between _what the fuck_ and also, also…

“You should marry me,” Stephen replied finally. “We should get married.” 

“What?!” Christine shrieked with joy. It was totally where Anabel got it, Stephen was sure.

“I mean, if you want to,” Stephen added in a nonchalant way.

Tony blinked in surprise at him. “Because I set up a dastardly plan and managed to make you obsessive about a parking space?”

“Maybe, that, yes. But also because I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Because I wake up in the mornings and know everything will be okay so long as you’re there next to me. You’ve given me meaning to a life that I thought for so long had none.”

Christine took the baby back, cooing at him in delight as he woke up a little with the move and snuffled sleepily. 

“Because I prefer how life is now, where we actually, you know, share the parking space? And I wouldn’t change that for the world,” Stephen continued. 

The drive to the hospital was long, but with JARVIS at the wheel he had no need to pay attention. On the days Tony joined him at the hospital they usually had a minimum of 45 minutes of time on their own, with no other distractions. It was precious time for them both. 

Stephen didn’t want it any other way. He didn’t want any of his life another way, not any more. 

“You can say no if you–”

“Yes,” Tony jumped in, looking nervous. “Yes, very much yes. I was going to ask you myself, you know? I had a whole thing planned.”

“Oh? Was it anything like your last plan involving me where you took years to carry it out?” he quipped, thinking about the way Tony had plotted to steal his space purely because of a shrimp cocktail. 

Tony surged forwards to kiss Stephen. The adults at the party cheered for the happy couple, while the kids continued playing and smashing food into their clothes and the ground, either not caring or not understanding why the adults were cheering.

Patience and long-term planning were Stephen’s specialties, after all. Get the guy, fall in love, live together, car share. Somewhere along the line he always knew he’d get his parking space back. If he was married to Tony, the space would have to legally be 50% his, right? It felt like a win to him. And if the price to pay was living out the rest of his days happy, with Tony by his side, then so be it. 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that! This is the end of this fic at least. It's been my first, very daunting drop into the world of multi-chaptered fic, and my first Marvel fic. I'm so grateful to everyone who has clicked on this and spent time reading it through, it's been such a joyful experience for me. 
> 
> Anabel's STRANNNGEEE thing is based on my niece, who does something very similar to me. Aunty and uncle for everyone else, I just get my name shrieked. It's lovely and I wouldn't change it for the world. It's also very, very odd, heh. I wrote so much of this fic just to be able to have this epilogue scene, I won't lie. It was that situation of "I want to write this One Scene... oh no, I need to write 50k to get there, damn." 
> 
> I'd love to know if there's anything in particular you've enjoyed - I do accept Anabel and Tony's kitten and dragon stickers scale of rating, btw. 
> 
> There's a companion piece from Tony's POV being posted today as well. This covers from about mid-way through this fic and extends a little bit further than this fic in its scope. I've got plans for a few more one-shots in the series as well. But if there's anything in particular that's of interest, let me know. 
> 
> As ever, I'm on tumblr as coconutice22 and on Discord. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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